Falling Into France
by Lightish Red
Summary: A teenage girl falls off of her horse and lands in Paris among musketeers. What's a girl to do? Based off of characters from i's Young Blades television series.
1. Falling and Paris

**Falling Into France**

**Author's Note:** Welcome to _Falling Into France_! This story was originally written from August 2005 toJuly 2006 and is just now being published in full text on This text has been carefullyrevised, and each posted chapter contains two of the original chapters, noted by the bold titles. Reviews areheartily welcomed!

**Disclaimer:** I own Lauren, Bud, and Gil--quite literally. The other characters are from PAX/i's television series "Young Blades" and owe much to the writings of Alexandre Dumas**

* * *

**

**Falling**

Lauren rotated her ankles, trying to relax her strained calf muscles. Just a few feet away, her friend Sarah took the last jump of her course, the stone wall. The large Trekhaner gelding took it big but made it pretty all the same.

Sarah pulled the bay down to a trot and a walk, halting in a corner. She shook blonde hair out of bright blue eyes and wiped her glistening forehead. The horse panted under her, and sweat soaked his neck and girth. A glimmer of his antlered brand could be seen when the sun hit his damp flank.

"Get off your horse!" called a gruff voice from the middle of the ring. With a lit cigarette in one hand and a beer can in the other, the girls' riding instructor praised, "That was prefect. Next!"

Lauren stuffed her feet back in the stirrups, pushing her heels back down with a moment in two-point. She tossed long, loose brown hair over her shoulders and blinked clear blue eyes. She backed her little Arabian/Quarter horse gelding so they could move to the rail.

Mentally reviewing the course in her head, she caught a glimpse of Sarah running up her stirrups before leaving the ring. Once outside, the blonde let her horse's head down to graze so she could watch Lauren's ride.

Gathering up her reins and squeezing Bud into a trot, Lauren began. The first jump was a simple cross rail, an 'x' formed by two poles crossed. From there she made a quick right turn to do a double combination, green box then vertical pole. She cantered across the center of the ring to jump a brush box, clearing it easily.

A quick lead change and a tight turn brought her back to the cross rail and off to the right to meet a rolltop. Now camp the final jump.

Lauren collected the small gelding below her. She sat up straight, checking him with her reins. The sun shone in her eyes, obscuring the stone wall from view. If she could just point him at it, Bud would take the jump himself.

She counted down the strides in her head, _Three… two… one…_, and went forward into jump position. She was too early.

The confused horse shut down, slamming on his breaks. Lauren scrambled to grab on to something, and she caught hold of Bud's bridle. It was no use; the built up momentum sent her body soaring over the wall in a graceful arc. The last thing she felt was crashing down on her right shoulder.

* * *

"Meurt-elle?"

"Non, elle respire et son coeur bat," said a deeper voice much closer than the first.

Lauren stirred. She opened her eyes to meet a pair of brown ones framed by a fair face and sandy blonde hair only inches from her face. "What the—? Who are you?" she asked in bewilderment, feeling very numb.

"Qu'est-ce qu'elle dit?" said a dark haired man standing a few feet away to the smaller one beside him.

He answered with a frown, "Je pense qu'elle parle l'anglais."

_Oh… French_, Lauren thought. She reset her mind to the different language.

"Where am I?" she asked in French as she sat up slowly, the light haired man assisting her with a hand behind her back. Immediately her hand went to her aching shoulder, reminding her, "Where's Bud?"

The dark haired man exchanged looks with his companion; they stood only a foot or two from Lauren's side, and she looked up at them. "This is outside Paris. Who's Bud?" asked the dark haired man, pronouncing the horse's name like 'booed.'

"My horse," she explained, "I was riding towards a jump…" She finally looked around. _Where's the riding ring?_ "And I fell."

She noticed their grey and blue costumes. _This must be some strange trauma induced dream. I must have hit my head pretty bad._ Her head immediately began to throb in tempo with her shoulder. Lauren's hand went to her stinging cheek; she pulled it away covered with blood and arena sand.

"Ow…" she hissed as the blonde prodded her sore head with probing fingers. "That hurts!" She knocked his hands away. "Back off; I don't need your help."

Another man walked up holding a wad of wet cloth. This Spanish-looking male spoke to the standing men, "The horses are—she's awake! Here." He handed the rags down, and the blonde proceeded to blot at Lauren's bloody cheek.

She knocked it from his hand, giving him a warning glare. The smallish man seemed to think it was hilarious and laughed into his friend's shoulder. The blonde sighed, picked it up, and offered the dirty cloth to her. Lauren took it gingerly and pressed a clean corner to her cheek, gently dapping away the mess. "So who are you all, and what's with him?" she asked, gesturing at the blonde who grimaced.

The Spanish one spoke up. "That is Siroc; he is a bit eager when it comes to doctoring or anything scientific." Siroc gave a tight lipped smile and eyed her progress in cleaning her face. "I am Ramon. These two are Jacques and d'Artagnan." Lauren turned a weary eye on the strange looking Jacques and then quickly glanced to d'Artagnan.

She laughed abruptly. "Oh! I get it! I'm having a dream about 'the three musketeers.' I knew I shouldn't have read those books this summer." The laughter subsided as she saw the looks on their faces. "What?"

"Where do you think you are?" Siroc asked her slowly. The others looked down in concern.

"Well, I was in my usual Thursday jumping lesson in America, but now I seem to be having a dream set in a field full of French musketeers." _This is by far the weirdest dream ever. I've got to tell Sarah about it._

"America?" repeated Ramon with a furrowed brow. "That's a long way from Paris." Siroc looked concerned. Lauren avoided his 'she-is-crazy' look by staring at the pair to her left. D'Artagnan whispered something to Jacques, and the latter gave him a small punch in the chest.

"What was that? I'm sitting right here, you know," Lauren told them. _Like it_ _isn't so obvious that they're talking about me…_

They looked at her guiltily, and Jacques explained with a sharp look d'Artagnan's way. "Your outfit is… different." He blushed and looked down.

Lauren looked at herself. She wore a black sleeveless shirt, olive green riding tights, and her dirty black paddock boots, all a little more grimy than usual from the fall. "I wasn't expecting to end up in France in such high company," she shot back, annoyed at being laughed at in her own dream.

She scrambled to stand, tired of being looked down on by these strangers. She pulled herself to her full five foot, three inch height slowly and painfully. _Why can't I dream with no feeling?_ She took a tentative step forward and winced as pain shot up her back. "Ah…" she gasped, and d'Artagnan was by her side with a supporting arm around her back.

"Hands off!" she ordered. He dropped her and backed off a step. Lauren caught Siroc giving him a shrug. "I am perfectly capable of walking, thank you."

She glanced around. They were standing in a small dip in a hilly, grassy area. Lauren gave a long whistle that started low and slow, ending high and sharp. The sound of cantering hoof beats became more distinct, and a familiar little gelding slowed and walked up to meet her.

"Enjoy the trip?" she asked him, scanning him for any cuts, scrapes, or bruises. Bud seemed to have entered her dream unharmed. _And untacked_, she thought, noticing that her horse wore no saddle or bridle. Lauren grunted in frustration.

The four musketeers looked taken aback at the animal's appearance. Siroc dared to move closer. "Bud, I presume?" He held something out to her.

Lauren looked at it in surprise. "My bridle? How did you—?"

"It was lying near you on the ground when we found you," he said shortly and offered it to Lauren, taking care not to touch her.

Lauren grinned inwardly. _I trained one of them…_ "Thanks." She gave him the most sincere smile she could muster and took the leather from him. Putting a hand between Bud's ears, she pulled the bridle over his head and buckled it easily.

Now she was stumped. The field had no large rocks or stumps for her mount off of, and she was too short to get on bareback from the ground. She looked over at the men wearily. "Could I get a leg up?"

D'Artagnan took a step forward, but Jacques stopped him with a hand on his chest. The smaller man strode over to Lauren and made a stirrup of his hands. Lauren stepped a foot in and threw her other leg over.

Jacques looked up at her, "Are you sure you don't want some help? You seem disoriented. We could at least escort you home, and you would be able to ride properly on one of our horses."

Lauren grinned. "I'm quite comfortable riding like this. Besides, my home is pretty far from here, but thanks. Let's part on a good note." She gave one last nod to the group of bewildered musketeers.

She rode off at a canter, letting Bud pick his way over the grassland to the tree line. _A path there should take me further into this dream._

* * *

**Paris**

Lauren entered the woods following a narrow path that Bud had discovered in the tall grass. As the gelding ambled through the dappled light, she loosened her rein and turned inward to reflect on her position.

_I know I fell. Then I woke up in a field surrounded by French musketeers—not bad looking ones either. Actually, Siroc looked a little like Mark Hildreth…_ She smiled, thinking of her favorite singer and humming a few bars of "Ready to Fall."

A cluster of birds took off from the treetops, fluttering and chirping recklessly. Bud spooked a bit, and he shied to the side, refusing to move forward. Lauren shortened her reins, and squeezed her legs around his barrel. "Come on, Bud-pony. It's okay. Good boy." She could feel his ribcage rising and falling with deep nervous breaths, but he did move forward.

"That's it, good boy," Lauren said soothingly. A song popped into her head, one that she had to sing at night to the young girls when she worked at a camp. In her lullaby voice, she began to sing:

"Chanson pour les petits enfants,

Chanson pour toutes le monde.

Chanson pour les petits enfants,

Chanson pour toutes le monde."

The horse slowly calmed as they walked on, and she returned to her musings. _D'Artagnan. Of course I bring him into my French fantasy_, she thought to herself drolly. _But why on earth did I imagine that Spanish guy and the effeminate one? I hope this isn't like the dream where I had Nazis chasing me, and I had to find clever means of escape._ A certain image of stealing a motorcycle and riding it through a field of yellow flowers entered her mind, and Lauren smiled.

Reprimanding herself for taking joy in a series of images, ideas, emotions, and sensations occurring involuntarily in the mind during certain stages of sleep, she said aloud, "I need to stop living in my dreams—I need a real life!" She sighed, thinking of the boring and endless classes and meetings and hours of work that waited for her on the other side of consciousness.

Lauren looked around at the old forest surrounding her. It reminded her of the trails on Shadow Mountain that she had ridden often with her friend Genevieve. There, natural obstacles had been arranged on some of them so you could jump to get the blood going; it was Gen's favorite thing to do. _I could use some company now…_

As she thought it, Lauren looked ahead, seeing a wagon and riders on a trail running perpendicular to hers. She trotted to catch up and arrived on a broad dirt avenue. She halted, stunned, turning her head to the left and tilting it back to take in the high wall of Paris.

"Some elaborate dream," she muttered as she joined the line of carriages, carts, and individuals mounted or on foot, all trying to squeeze through the arched gateway. No one seemed to notice her unusual dress or riding style, or at least no one bothered to mention it. Soon she was inside the walls and wandering down the crowded streets. Mobs of peasants shuffled through the mass, all of them staring at their feet and keeping to themselves. Lauren split her attention from wading through the crowd and staring in wonder at the old-style buildings.

Admiring the thatched roofing on some of the shops and houses, she felt a tug on her leg. She looked down to see a burly man attired in a red uniform of sorts and covered in a layer of grime. Her lip twitched in disgust. "May I help you?"

He gave her a sour look and revealed a dark smile as he said, "I'm sure you could, missy." He let out a low rumbling chuckle and yanked her leg, pulling it down sharply.

Lauren fell sideways. She frantically grabbed Bud's mane in her fists, gripping his side with her other leg. "Let go of me!" she screamed. None of the passersby even glanced over; they just let this maltreatment go on.

Bud took an anxious step sideways, and Lauren toppled to the dirt ground. "Bud!" she called hysterically, but the horse was gone, lost in the crowd. Lauren looked up at her attacker; he was bending down to grab her arms and drag her off. Soreness forgotten, Lauren planted a good square kick in his chest with a booted heel. The man grunted but was not deterred. He half lifted her up and took a firm grip on her upper arm. Lauren tried squirming, hitting, and going limp in rotation to no avail. He was simply bigger and stronger.

_This is my dream, isn't it?_ she told herself. _If I don't like it, I'll change it._ She closed her eyes and pictured the people she would most like to see at a time like this. Her eyelids popped open, and there above the crowd she could see four musketeers coming her way. _That wasn't so hard…_

The multitude of peasants cleared a path for them as they marched along on impeccably clean steeds. Her captor finally spotted the uniformed men, too. He picked up the pace, skirting the far edge of the crowd to avoid their notice.

Lauren watched the musketeers. They were laughing and joking while all around them the poor waddled on in their dreary lives. _Social injustice,_ Lauren thought indignantly. _They parade around in their little outfits while the common people fight for a simple livelihood, all because they weren't born into nobility. Well, beggars can't be choosers._

"D'Artagnan!" she yelled over the noise of the street. "Siroc! Ramon! Jacq—!" The man pulled roughly on her arm. It was too late for that, however, because d'Artagnan had picked up the sound of a female voice calling his name. "A little help, please?"

Jacques moved into action first, turning her horse and maneuvering it through the crowd. D'Artagnan opted for a flying dismount, charging through the crowd on foot toward her. _If only this could happen in real life… _the girl thought amusedly.

Lauren let herself be drug along, knowing that her knight in shining armor was coming. The grounded musketeer reached her first, pulling out a rapier. "Nice sword," she called to d'Artagnan with a smirk. To her surprise, her captor spun her out behind him. Lauren swayed on her feet for a minute before regaining her balance. "How rude!"

Neither heard her; they were engaged in a duel. _For my honor, I suppose_, she thought languidly, enjoying the live swordfight right out of a movie. The area around the fighting men had cleared out quickly. Only the musketeers dared to stick around to watch. Jacques came up behind her, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Are you alright?" he asked roughly.

Lauren looked up at the slim man. She took in his clean shaven face and pointed chin. He had long eyelashes and gentle eyes. Lauren looked at the hand on her arm and took in the neat nails and slender fingers. She grinned. "Now I understand," she told the musketeer. "I'm a sucker for those women-dressing-as-men-to-fight stories. You are a pretty nice character for something I thought up." Lauren admired her imagination's handiwork; it was a rather convincing disguise.

Jacques removed her hand and looked down at the girl with a twinge of apprehension. Lauren ignored the stare and returned her attention to the fight. D'Artagnan was beating the red pretty bad. He disarmed the clumsy man and sent him scurrying away before joining the watching women.

"I apologize for your rough treatment, mademoiselle," he said gallantly. "I only wish that I had ignored your protests and accompanied you to Paris so this never would have happened." Lauren allowed him to take her hand and kiss the back, hiding her amusement. _What are dreams for if not to have some fun?_ she thought deviously. She decided to play along.

"Oh! My hero!" she exclaimed. She put a hand to her forehead and pretended to swoon. As she let her knees buckle, d'Artagnan lunged to catch her. Lauren righted herself before hitting the ground and laughed. "Sorry, I couldn't resist." Jacques and d'Artagnan exchanged looks. Siroc and Ramon had made their way over to catch her performance, and Siroc pulled the others over for a conference.

Lauren waited patiently outside the huddle, rocking back and forth on her heels and catching whispered phrases every once and awhile. Pretending she had not heard a word, she regarded them innocently when they turned to address her.

Siroc looked a little frazzled as he spoke. "We think you should come with us to the garrison. You can get some food, clean up and—uh—find a proper dress."

Lauren shrugged. "All right. I lost my horse though, so I hope this garrison isn't far." They looked surprised when she did not fight them. _I tried to leave them once, and they found me; maybe this is what my dream is supposed to be about_, she reasoned out in her head.

A moment later she had mounted d'Artagnan's horse with Jacques' assistance. She even let him lead the horse, like she was a child on a pony ride. Lauren resigned herself to admiring the life on the Paris streets as they moved from the poor outer circle into the wealthier district of the city. _A garrison sounds like fun…_


	2. Games and Proofs

**Games**

The little parade of musketeers and guest arrived in a courtyard. Practicing cadets were sparring in pairs; most had shed their jackets in response to the afternoon sun and their hard workout. Lauren, in the oversized grey coat borrowed from d'Artagnan, watched them with interest, and they returned the favor, staring back at her. _This amused by a woman in their precious garrison? They should take a second look at Jacques. _Before anyone could try and help her, Lauren did a vaulting scissor-kick dismount, landing with catlike grace on her feet. She flashed a flirtatious smile at her audience and made a little bow. Siroc cleared his throat. "I'll take her to my workshop."

Ramon took the blonde's horse's reins without a question. "D'Artagnan, here," Jacques said, offering her horse to the other musketeer. D'Artagnan raised a questioning eyebrow but accepted the reins after a sharp glare from the woman.

Lauren allowed them to steer her through the group of overly friendly musketeers towards an open doorway. She called out 'bonjour!' as she passed each man. Her two escorts ducked inside, and led her through a series of rooms into a laboratory. She looked around in amazement at the unlabeled jars of different mixes and poked at the bits and pieces of inventions covering all the flat surfaces in the room.

Siroc looked on the verge of a nervous breakdown. "Please, don't—" he called as Lauren played with a model of a primitive flying machine.

"Sorry!" she replied, setting it carefully back on its stand. Siroc let out a breath of relief.

Jacques turned to speak with him. "Why don't you go get the Captain and explain the situation? I'll watch her," the disguised woman offered.

"And you won't let her touch anything?" he asked, sound anxious. He ran a hand through his hair and looked at Lauren suspiciously.

Jacques smiled. "Everything will be just fine; go get Duval." One last glance and Siroc had left. Jacques closed the door. "Look, I don't know who you are, but breathe a word about me to anyone and I'll—"

"Don't worry about it," Lauren broke in. "I won't tell a soul. And I'm sure whatever you were going to say would hurt really badly, so just relax; your secret's safe with me."

Jacques recovered quickly. _She's pretty levelheaded_, Lauren thought. _I like her._

"So what's your story?" the musketeer asked, sidling over. "You really believe you are from America?"

"Of course I am, and proud of it!" Lauren stuck out her chest and stood at attention. "Home of the free, land of the brave, apple pies, baseball, and all that jazz."

Jacques' brow furrowed. Lauren was about to continue when the door opened. A grey haired man with a limp walked in shadowed by Siroc. "Leponte," the older man nodded at Jacques before he saw Lauren. "Good God!" he practically shouted. "She's been wandering around Paris like that!"

Lauren looked down self-consciously; her clothes were a bit dirty, sure, but they were of good enough quality. Her cheek was still scraped up, and her head and shoulder hurt, but she was not a bloody mess either. "Excuse me?"

"Find her a proper dress before she whips the whole garrison into a frenzy," he ordered to Siroc. The blonde turned obediently to follow the command.

"No."

"No?" the captain repeated, incredulously. Lauren, emboldened, took a few steps to face him down.

"If you want me to wear a dress, then he'll have to put it on me himself." She gestured to Siroc whose jaw dropped to the floor.

Duval shook with rage; a blood vessel threatened to pop in his forehead. "I'll put you—"

"Sir," Siroc broke in, stepping in between the Captain and Lauren, "she's wrong in the mind. If you give me the chance, I can help her. Satisfy this whim—it won't hurt anything, and perhaps I can persuade her to change her mind… eventually."

The Captain reverted into imperturbable commander mode. "Find her a small uniform to wear, for God's sake. Anything's better than that!" He glanced at Lauren again. "Better make that extra small." With a shake of his head, Duval left muttering 'women in the garrison' under his breath.

Lauren sighed and sank onto a bench. _Now I have to deal with a chauvinist Captain besides these crazies._ Shaking herself out of a slump, she reprimanded herself, _Stop whining and work! You can change their minds. Do your feminist sisters proud!_ She faced her captors with a refreshed new strength.

Jacques announced to no one in particular, "I'll get her a uniform," and left the room. Siroc was left standing alone seeming very apprehensive.

"Would you allow me to check your wounds now?" he asked softly. Lauren considered for a moment and nodded. _What harm could a check up do?_

He pulled some of the jars off of the shelves and grabbed a few clean bandages. _At least he's an intelligent doctor_, Lauren surmised as she hopped up on the table, sitting on the edge like he had indicated. He set his equipment next to her and held up a jar of a light brown paste. "May I?"

Lauren looked at it suspiciously. "I suppose you wouldn't know if it caused cancer in lab rats, would you?" she asked. His confused look confirmed the obvious. "Hell for it—go ahead." Siroc dabbed the herbal smelling paste on her cheek.

When he finished, he put the jar back in its place. He returned to Lauren and looked right into her eyes. "Can I check your skull for fractures?"

"If you must," she sighed. Lauren tilted her head forward and let him run his fingers tenderly over her scalp; she was reminded of having a stylist wash her hair before cutting it. The gentle massage did wonders for her headache.

The door flew open to admit d'Artagnan and Ramon, back from the stables. Siroc pulled away abruptly. "What took so long?" he asked quickly.

D'Artagnan looked curiously between the two, and Lauren raised her eyebrows at him. _What on earth is going through that mind of his…_ "We had to explain her to all of the cadets."

"Don't I feel special," Lauren remarked casually. She tried to sit up straight and stretch out her shoulders but hissed as a bolt of pain coursed her side.

Ramon rushed over. "Let me help—I give wonderful back rubs." He placed his hands on her shoulders.

"Hands off—Captain's orders," came Jacques' voice from the doorway. Her arms were full of the smallest Musketeer uniforms she could find. She dumped them on a chair by the door and strode in to join the group.

Lauren was a tad annoyed. _I am capable of deciding who I want to touch me, Captain's orders or no!_ "Maybe later, Ramon. I should change first." She shot a defiant look at Jacques before standing to retrieve her clothes.

"Where can I put these on?" she asked, mostly at Siroc.

He looked around, eyes settling on a door out of his workshop. "You can stay in the adjoining room. I hardly use it anyway." He shook the doorknob, and it swung open on rusted hinges. Inside, a shelf full of dusty books, a cot, and a dirty window were the only decorations.

"I can see why…" Lauren muttered. "Thanks," she said more loudly, closing the door in his face. She shook out a pair of standard Musketeer issue pants. _Here goes nothing…_

* * *

**Proofs**

Lauren stared across the table at Siroc. It was late afternoon in France, and she was ready for a siesta in her dusty room on the lumpy cot. The inventor sat directly before her, notebook open, poised to write. Lauren yawned.

"Can you tell me your name?" he asked, beginning his life of questioning. _Flashback to that therapist I had to see during my physical last year_, Lauren thought.

"Lauren Cantre."

"How old are you?"

"Seventeen."

"Where are you from?"

"Pigeon Forge, Tennessee. It's in America."

His brow furrowed slightly as he recorded her answers. "Tell me about your home."

Lauren snorted. "It's the place I sleep, eat, and work."

Siroc did not get angry. "What sort of schooling do you have?"

"I should be enjoying my senior year of high school and going to some university next year, but I'm stuck in la-la land right now." She looked around boredly and noticed some equations scribbled on a board across the room. "Are you a fan of Pierre de Fermat or something?"

He looked up from his book sharply. "You know of Fermat?"

"Of course I do." Lauren stood to stretch her legs and ambled over to the board. "We study mathematicians in calculus. This is Fermat's great theorem, the generalization from the Pythagorean theorem, right?"

"Yes," Siroc answered, abandoning his notebook to stand beside her. He frowned up at his work. "Fermat just neglected to leave a proof." He picked a book up and turned to a particular page. "This is all I have to work with."

Lauren squinted at the old time script and struggled to pick out the words.

_Cubum autem in duos cubos, aut quadrato-quadratum in duos quadrato-quadratos, et generaliter nullam in infinitum ultra quadratum potestatem in duos eiusdem nominis fas est dividere cuius rei demonstrationem mirabilem sane detexi. Hanc marginis exigitas non caperet._

"Sorry, I took French, not Latin. Could you translate, please?" she asked sweetly.

Siroc was too distracted to notice her tone. "Roughly it says: 'It is impossible to separate a cube into two cubes, or a fourth power into two fourth powers, or in general, any power higher than the second into two like powers. I have discovered a truly marvelous proof of this, which this margin is too narrow to contain.' It's quite a fascinating assumption, but I don't know how he could have proved it."

"Don't worry too much about it. It isn't proved until 1995, and most of the top mathematicians don't even understand those two hundred pages of proof. I just know it as, 'There are no positive integers _x_, _y_, and _z_ such that _xn_ + _yn_ _zn_ in which _n_ is a natural number greater than two,'" Lauren recited, just as she had written it on the exam.

Siroc looked down and seemed shocked to realize that she was there. "How do you know all this?"

"I told you. I took a year of AP Calculus—or rather I am taking it," she told him.

"What else do you study?" he asked, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back against a table.

"This year I just have calculus, government and economics, French, English, and art history. I was taking anatomy, but I decided that dissecting a cat wasn't for me." Lauren wrinkled her nose at the last part. "Besides, none of my friends were in that class either."

Only slightly confused by her language, Siroc pressed her further. "So you study math, science, government, history, and languages, dress and ride like a man, and wander strange places alone?"

"So it would seem," she answered back sarcastically, rolling her eyes. "Thank you for stating the obvious."

"Why do you reject being a woman?" he asked hesitantly. "Why won't you wear a dress?"

"I don't reject anything," Lauren said plainly, looking him right in the eye. "I live in a different time where women have rights and choices. We have every opportunity to learn and dress as we please, and we do it better than the boys most of the time." She stood up proudly. "As for not wearing a dress, a skirt to me is like shackles to a slave—a symbol of past oppression of my people, women," she said sincerely. "It gives me the feeling of vulnerability and weakness. You can't ask me to feel like that."

Lauren could not fully describe the look on Siroc's face. It was as though a fresh new wave of thought was trying to settle into his mind. A look of recognition crossed his face, like he sympathized with what she had said. "You're not like most girls are you?"

Lauren broke into a smile. "No, fortunately." _I turned one of them around_, she thought with pleasure.


	3. Dinner and Fighting

**Dinner**

Lauren and Siroc discussed calculus for the rest of the afternoon. By the time the other musketeers walked into the workshop, the sky outside had already begun to darken. Lauren was explaining the Alternate Definition of Derivatives. "See, if you have an x value given, you don't have to use _x_ plus _h_. You just take the limit as _x_ approaches _a_ of _f(x)_ minus _f(a)_ all over _x_ minus _a_," she finished, writing the last equation in simple block letters.

"What are you two doing?" asked an overly friendly voice. Lauren came to her senses quickly. She noted that Siroc and herself were probably a little too close for this time period; they had been sitting beside each other with their heads together over his notebook. She swung one leg over the bench and then the other so she could face their visitors.

Siroc stood and turned as well, oblivious to his friend's tone of voice. "We were comparing notes on mathematics. She has a brilliant grasp of calculus," he said to d'Artagnan. The musketeer was flanked by Ramon and Jacques, the latter who looked at Lauren a little distrustfully.

Ramon got right to the important part. "We were heading to the café for an evening meal. Care to join us, amigo?"

Siroc hesitated, shooting a glance at Lauren. "I don't think we should leave—"

"Don't worry about me," Lauren told him. "Just bring me back something to eat. I'll just try and recall a few more theorems for you to look over when you get back." She flashed a smile.

When he still didn't move, Ramon broke the tension. "Just bring the senorita with us. Nothing can happen if all four of us are watching her."

"I don't think that's such a good idea," Jacques began. "She's not exactly dressed properly…"

"And when has that ever bothered you, Jacques?" d'Artagnan asked her with a smirk. Jacques' face showed a mixture of shock and hurt. She did not protest again when Siroc finally agreed.

Lauren sighed. She did not want to make an enemy of the female musketeer, but she was struggling to make a good impression. "Can I at least tie my hair back? Maybe people will pass me off as a boy if they don't look twice."

Siroc dug out a strip of leather for her, and they were off.

* * *

The Musketeers guided Lauren to a secluded corner of Café Nouveau. Lauren settled back happily with the shadows hiding her face from the red clad soldiers dining nearby. _I don't fancy being dragged off again…_To avoid the troubles of a questioning barmaid, Siroc and Ramon went up to get drinks themselves. Lauren looked uncomfortably across the table at d'Artagnan who would not stop staring back at her. Jacques wore a sour look and gazed off into the evening crowd. "So…" Lauren began awkwardly, "why'd you become a musketeer?"

D'Artagnan blinked a couple times before comprehending. "Well… I, uh… My father and all of his friends were musketeers. I just grew up knowing that's what I would do too."

Lauren rested her chin on a fist. "You wanted to be like your father? You didn't want to strike out on your own and do something else?"

"I don't want to be like my father, really. I just…" he stammered. Lauren noticed that Jacques seemed very interested in what he was saying although she still pretended to ignore them. "You ask hard questions," he laughed, trying to sort out his thoughts.

"That's how I get the hard truth," Lauren replied simply. Ramon and Siroc arrived with five cups of steaming liquid. Sniffing the one set in front of her, Lauren asked, "Coffee?"

Ramon smiled over his cup. "The most heavenly drink, the ambrosia of earth—into its depths I sink, its weight in gold it's worth." He took a long swallow.

"Nice rhyme," Lauren commented. She took a sip and tried not to gag at the strong, bitter taste. She set the mug down carefully before her. "It's more a morning wake-up sort of drink where I come from."

The others played with their cups, unsure of what to say in front of their unusual guest. Lauren sighed. _Maybe it's time to play with them a bit, and maybe learn something for history class._

"So, you all fight for the King of France, right?"

"To the death if God wills it," said Jacques darkly, eyeing Lauren cautiously.

"You believe in divine right to rule and nobility of birth and all that, too?" Lauren pressed.

Siroc remained quiet. Ramon shook his head in wonder that Lauren would say that out loud. Jacques looked like she wanted to say something, but restrained herself. D'Artagnan answered carefully, "We believe in our King, and we will protect him at all costs." His friendly demeanor was gone.

"Surely you disagree with some things, at least. Shouldn't everyone have a say in their government, not just the rich white men with titles?" Lauren said, her mouth jumping ahead of her brain. Surveying their grim faces she thought, _Maybe I've gone too far…_

"Where is this coming from, senorita?" Ramon asked. "America is ruled by a king, same as France. That's how it works."

"No, it doesn't," she refuted. "A king cannot rule if the people do not support him. America has a revolution in the late eighteenth century and establishes her own democratic government."

"You're getting very close to treason," Jacques growled across the table, a murderous look in her eye.

"Back down," Siroc said, his voice barely a whisper so only Lauren would hear.

_I guess they wouldn't want to know about the French Revolution…_ "Don't take me so serious, Jacques. I am crazy, remember." Lauren sat back and talked very little for the rest of the meal. Ramon excused himself some time later to meet a certain mademoiselle named Emmanuelle, and the rest stood to leave. Lauren found herself walking next to Siroc on the way back to the garrison. D'Artagnan and Jacques talked in low voices behind them. Lauren concentrated on her feet, trying to keep up with Siroc's longer strides; he was obviously eager to get back to his workshop.

They arrived none too soon. Lauren had not been able to start a conversation with the inventor and felt rather embarrassed. She followed him into the laboratory. "Well, good night, Siroc," she told him, retreating towards the door of her closet.

"I'd like to hear more of your theories of government tomorrow. Maybe when the others aren't around, we could…" he trailed off.

"Sure." Lauren smiled, looking back at him one last time before closing the door. "Tomorrow, then."

She shut the door, leaning back against it and staring into her dark room. _I had to go and open my big mouth…_ She took off her Musketeer jacket and vest, untucking her shirt before crawling into bed. Pulling the scratchy blankets over her, she took a deep breath. _Now maybe I can finally wake up in my own time._ She shut her eyes and fell asleep immediately.

* * *

**Fighting**

Lauren opened her eyes, waking with a jolt. A loud crash had rung out under her window. She leapt out of bed, glancing outside to a courtyard of the garrison. Several men were sword fighting passionately. She threw open the door that led into Siroc's workshop. "What's going on? Are we under attack or something?"

Ramon looked over, and Siroc turned around. "What are you talking about?" came the latter's calming voice.

"All the fighting going on outside my window!" Lauren shouted, just waiting for armed men to burst through the door.

"That is just the cadets, senorita—practice," Ramon explained, trying to soothe her.

Lauren slumped where she stood, still in France. "Sorry, I'm just not used to clashing swords waking me up…" She finally realized that she must look like a mess. Her hair was disheveled from sleeping, her shirt and pants were wrinkled, and she probably had dried drool on her cheek.

At that moment, d'Artagnan and Jacques entered looking flushed and breathing a little harder than usual. "Good fight?" asked Ramon.

Jacques flashed a grin. "I won again," she announced triumphantly.

"Barely," muttered d'Artagnan, but the gloating musketeer didn't hear him.

"You fight for fun?" Lauren asked timidly from her corner. Everyone suddenly remembered that she was there and looked over. She smoothed down her hair self-consciously.

Jacques stepped forward, advancing on Lauren's corner. "It's not just a game—we have to duel to keep ourselves sharp." She pulled out her rapier, regarding it almost lovingly, and continued, "A musketeer's life is balanced on the edge of a blade. A slow reaction can mean death or being crippled for life." The female Musketeer made a stabbing motion, stopping just inches from Lauren's chest. "Want to try?" A mischievous gleam shone in her eye.

_Be bold_, Lauren told herself, shaking off the discomfort of having a blade pointed at her heart. "Of course."

Jacques backed up. "D'Artagnan, lend her your rapier," she said simply, expecting him to obey. _She's got that poor man whipped_, Lauren thought with an inward smile.

D'Artagnan's hesitation prompted Ramon to come forward. "I've got to see this; take mine." He handed it off to Lauren, holding the pointed tip down so she could grab the grip. Lauren lifted it, wondering at the craftsmanship. The sword was deceptive, feeling heavier than its daintiness suggested. She gave a few small practice swings and tested its motion. Her swipes were clumsy and wobbly, but it was an interesting experience.

Meanwhile, d'Artagnan had pulled Jacques aside. "What are you doing? It's one thing for you to fight, but why are you dragging this poor girl in? She could hurt herself," he said quietly, stealing a glance at the awkward cuts Lauren was making in the air.

Jacques shrugged. "Something is odd about her… The girl is insane for even accepting the challenge; any everyday mademoiselle in Paris would refuse to touch a weapon, and she's over there playing with one," she replied. "Don't worry, I won't let anything happen to your precious little girl."

Jacques pulled away from her confidant and met Lauren in the most open part of the room. "Cross blades first—good," she told the younger woman. The three men stood in a solemn line to watch their slender friend take on the crazy girl. "Now, attack."

Lauren swung the blade slowly in wide arcs. Jacques easily blocked each one and made a strike herself, resting the tip of her blade at Lauren's throat. "You also have to defend. Try again—cross blades."

So they began again: Lauren swinging, Jacques blocking, and Lauren getting struck. After each round, Jacques would say, 'Cross blades,' and they would play out their scene again. Lauren grew tired of their game, but she would not be the first to quit. Her arm was sore, but she fought on, getting better at blocking and looking for holes in Jacques' own defense.

Another round came. After a few moments of intense sword clanging, Lauren managed to tap Jacques' arm. The Musketeer looked surprised but lowered her blade nonetheless. "Good. That's enough for today."

Lauren dropped her arm, suddenly feeling like she had done her push-up test and then run a mile for gym class. Ramon stepped over slowly to reclaim his rapier. "Well done, senorita!" he said kindly. Lauren gave a weak smile.

She shuffled over to the worktable and dropped into a seat. "Can I get some breakfast somewhere?" she asked to no one in particular.

"Actually, it's almost lunchtime," Siroc informed her, having been silent for her ordeal. "We decided to let you sleep in. The garrison kitchens might have something for you, though." He once again became absorbed in his work like he had never stopped to watch some fighting practice in the middle of his laboratory.

"I'll take her," d'Artagnan offered. No one bothered to object. He strode over to Lauren, holding out his arm for her to take.

Lauren ignored the gesture and moved to the door, looking to him expectantly. "Lead the way."

D'Artagnan hid a bemused expression and walked down the corridors beside the crazy but bold young woman. "Do you treat all men like this, mademoiselle?"

Lauren narrowed her eyes at him. "I can walk without assistance, thank you very much. Boys at home don't do all these chivalrous things, anyway." _It would be annoying if they did, too…_

"It's a shame that you're not being courted by a courteous man," he told her, leading her around a corner.

"Courted? Ha! I hardly have time for my friends, let alone a boyfriend," Lauren told him absentmindedly, only slightly curious as to why he was so interested in her personal life.

D'Artagnan slowed, a frown on his face. "Siroc said you were seventeen. Surely you are about to be wed."

"Me getting married?" Lauren repeated, amazed at how backwards his thinking was. "If I were home I'd be panicking about applying to college and planning a career while still maintaining some sort of life in my senior year! If I ever got married, it wouldn't be for another five years at the very least; it'd be the furthest thing from my mind." She looked up at the dashing musketeer. _He probably didn't understand anything I just said._

"Your parents don't object to you running around by yourself without any protection?" he asked, looking concerned.

"I'm hardly 'loose,' and I don't need 'protection.' Except maybe from you," Lauren muttered the last part. She brushed by d'Artagnan towards the next open doorway. "Thanks for showing me the way!" She ducked inside the kitchen, listening to his retreating footsteps.

"Thank God I'm rid of him," she said aloud, taking a deep breath and relaxing.

"Funny, d'Artagnan doesn't usually get that reaction from women."


	4. Introductions and Accident

**Introductions**

"Gilbert! That's no way to address a—" the familiar gruff voice of Captain Duval paused for a moment. "A lady," he finished uncertainly, surely still sour over her choice of dress.

Lauren turned slowly, taking in the rough tabletops covered with kettles and pans and the herbs and meat hanging from the ceiling. A door straight across from her was wide open, revealing a sunny day over the practice courtyard beyond. But standing before that door were the Captain and a clean shaven youth in a fresh musketeer uniform. The younger man had greenish eyes and chestnut brown hair that fell in tousled waves not quite to his shoulders. Lauren was momentarily frozen, so captured by his eyes she was. Her head tilted slowly to the side.

He looked back at her with laughing eyes. "Pardon me, mademoiselle." He made a slight bow, hand over his heart. "I am Gilbert Chantal from Provence, newly enlisted in the musketeers under my Uncle Martin. Let me assure you that if I knew women were allowed in, I would have joined much sooner." Lauren barely caught his sly wink before Duval commanded her attention.

"She is a special case," he said briefly to his nephew. He turned to Lauren, "And you are to be under the supervision of Siroc at all times."

"I was hungry. My _guardian_ has neglected to feed me, so I must fend for myself," she turned dismissively to rummage through the messy cupboards, trying to ignore the two pairs of eyes boring into her back.

"Well, Gilbert, this can be your first assignment. Escort Lauren safely back to Siroc after she has satiated her hunger. I must attend to my work," Duval said briskly.

"Sir," Gilbert acknowledged, making a sharp salute as the Captain strode away deeper into the garrison. The young musketeer poked around the table near the door and found the remnants of the morning's breakfast bread and some linen wrapped cheese. He quickly fashioned a sandwich of sorts, layering the cheese between two slices of bread. He then walked over to the searching Lauren, tapping her on the shoulder. "Will this do?"

Lauren spun around, hitting him in the gut with her elbow. "Oouf," he exhaled, slightly doubling over.

Horrified, she quickly apologized, "Oh my God, I'm so sorry. You startled me! Are you all right?" She put a concerned hand on his shoulder, helping him to straighten.

He grinned up at her, "You sure know how to make an impression, mademoiselle." Standing erect again, he continued, "Here's something to eat."

"Oh, thank you." She accepted the sandwich, looking down at it in her hand at a loss for something to say. "Um… You can call me Lauren; mademoiselle sounds too nice for me."

"Then call me Gil; Gilbert has always sounded too formal for me," he replied.

Lauren realized that he was standing way too close. She retreated backwards a few steps. "I'd better get back to the lab before they worry. Thanks again." She walked towards the doorway at a swift pace.

"Wait!" Gil called. Lauren stopped with a sigh but did not face him. "I'll walk with you." He caught up to her.

"That's not necessary, really," she told him, her gaze boldly crossing the short distance between them.

"I was charged with your safety. How can I be sure you don't trip and scrape a knee if I don't walk with you?" he asked in a mock serious tone.

"You've got me there," Lauren replied weakly. She stepped out into the corridor, Gil following closely beside her.

"So why are you in the garrison?" he said. "I noticed my uncle doesn't seem to appreciate your presence here…"

Lauren hesitated. _It would be nice to have one person who thinks I'm relatively normal…_ "I'm a ward of Siroc right now, one of the musketeers." _It's more of a half-truth, not a lie._

"Uncle has always spoken highly of Siroc; he's the inventor, right?" Lauren nodded, and Gil did not press her further. They had arrived at the workshop door.

Gil swung the heavy wooden door in, gesturing for Lauren to go first. She did so, walking in to face d'Artagnan and Jacques. "Um… where's Siroc?"

"He had to pick up some ingredient for whatever he's making. Who's your friend?" called Jacques. She eyed Gil a little harshly.

To Lauren's surprise, d'Artagnan walked over to Gil, giving the youth a hard pat on the back. "Gilbert de Chantal! Haven't seen you since you were about ten years old! And now you're a musketeer; your family must be proud."

The two females in the room watched the ritual curiously. "You know each other?" Lauren asked, wincing at the stupidly obvious question.

"We go back a ways," d'Artagnan said vaguely. "Family connections."

Gil looked uncomfortable under all the attention. "I was just escorting Lauren back under Uncle—er, Captain's orders. I'd better report back soon."

"Isn't he great?" d'Artagnan boasted loudly towards Jacques. "His first day and he's already worrying about Duval's wrath. Go on, boy! We'll have to fight tomorrow, see what you're made of."

Gil retreated, nodding towards d'Artagnan and Jacques. His gaze lingered on Lauren last. "I hope to see you around, Lauren."

"Yeah," she replied halfheartedly with a forced smile. She took a deep breath and exhaled when the door shut.

"Gilbert Chantal," d'Artagnan muttered again, shaking his head in disbelief.

Lauren shied away from Jacques' too personal gaze. _All I need—more to confuse me…_

* * *

**Accident**

Four days passed, and Lauren was still trapped in France. She was even beginning to doubt that this was a dream. Siroc's subtle suggestions that she had created this 'dream' and fabricated a life in the future to block out a traumatic event did not help Lauren retain her sanity.

Lauren propped her elbow on the table, resting her chin in her palm. With her other hand, she lazily twirled her long, dark brown hair around a finger. Siroc was ignoring her again, and evil little thoughts kept jumping into her mind. _What would he do if I dumped a bucket of water over his head?_ A mental picture popped up, and Lauren analyzed his reaction. _No good; he would be extremely upset if it ruined his notebook… Maybe I should just stick to the simple: pretending to faint. It produces a sympathetic reaction, lots of attention for a few days, and the fun of being waited on hand and foot._

Lauren sighed. _And what if something fun happened? I wouldn't get to go because of my _delicate_ state…_ She was about to do it anyway when a commotion rose up outside. Lauren peeked out the door and saw a familiar patch of light brown flank. She ran outside, slowing only to approach the horse. "Bud!" she exclaimed, weaving through the musketeers in the practice yard. She met d'Artagnan at Bud's head where he had been attempting to catch the loose gelding. His new shadow, Gil, was beside him. Lauren groaned inwardly; she had grown tired of his constant presence. The boy had a comment for _everything_!

Lauren gave a curt nod to d'Artagnan and put a hand on her horse's muzzle. "Where have you been?" she scolded the animal. "When I was in trouble, you just took off to save your own hide while I had to wait for some musketeers to come along!" Bud regarded her placidly, not seeming to care about what she had said. Lauren rubbed his neck affectionately. "Go find the other horses. I'm sure they'll share some water and hay with you." As if by some magical understanding, Bud walked into the stable by his own accord. _If only Bud understood French commands in real life_, Lauren thought.

Although most of the musketeers had gone back to practicing, she still had to face two of them. D'Artagnan spoke first. "Have you seen Jacques today? He was gone when I woke up this morning."

"Um, I think he had a day off," Lauren lied. She knew that the female Musketeer had asked Duval for a special assignment to get out of the garrison; she had heard them talking. Lauren had noticed Jacques becoming sulky when Gil arrived. Now that d'Artagnan had a new sidekick to fill up his extra time, Jacques was being neglected.

_She must like him_, Lauren reasoned for the thousandth time. _She is obviously jealous that someone else is in her place—d'Artagnan's side—and is just now realizing how much that place means to her. Thus, she works herself up into a bad mood and runs away from the problem. Maybe I should be a psychiatrist… _

All this Lauren kept in her head, smiling blankly at d'Artagnan. "I must have forgotten," the elder of the two musketeers said even as he frowned.

Gil decided to fill the silence. "Shall I escort you back to the lab?" he asked the girl with a slight bow.

_I guess d'Artagnan hasn't told him that I'm crazy yet…_ "I'll go by myself, thanks," she replied shortly. She was tired of his little charms; he had been fun at first, but now it was frustrating to listen to the jokes he kept cracking, to pretend not to notice the small ways he managed to brush her arm or hand or back, and to see the way he made d'Artagnan forget all about Jacques. _And why should I care what Jacques feels?_

"We'll both walk with you," d'Artagnan announced. "I've got to speak to Duval."

"Suit yourselves," Lauren told them, leading the way back inside. D'Artagnan split off to the right through Duval's open office door. As expected, Gil trailed Lauren back into Siroc's lab, going so far as to guide her through the doorway with a hand on the small of her back. The inventor looked up as they walked in.

"Now where have you been?" he asked, eyes looking at Gil suspiciously, tracing the younger man's arm to where his hand rested.

Lauren scowled with annoyance. _Of all times to notice me, you choose when the boy is being forward._ She shrugged off Gil's touch, stepping forward to address Siroc. "Are you kidding? I was sitting at the table five minutes ago! I ducked outside just to see Bud. Don't you remember?"

Siroc looked confused for a moment, thinking back. He seemed to believe her and went on to say, "I am sorry to be so inquisitive, but the Captain charged me with your safety and well-being. Just tell me before you leave again." One last glance at Gil pushed him to add, "And who you're leaving with."

Lauren resisted the urge to thrash Gil. _If he has Siroc thinking that there is something between us, then I've got to end this once and for all._

Building up the nerve to berate him, Lauren spun to address Gil and bumped into Ramon carrying a cup of hot coffee. The scalding brown liquid spread down her shirt. Lauren rushed to pull the hot shirt away from her now burning skin. "Pardon me, senorita!" Ramon exclaimed. "I didn't think you would turn so quickly!" He scanned the room and found some towels, strangely folded and stacked neatly unlike everything else in the room.

"Really, it's okay," Lauren struggled to say, but he would not listen to her protests.

"Here," he said after fetching the towels and thrusting them in her arms. He turned to snap at Gil. "Go fetch a bucket of water for her to wash up with." Because of Musketeer seniority, Gil obeyed.

"Go on to your room; I'll clean this up and bring the water when he gets back," Ramon told her. Lauren could have kissed the Spaniard.

As she stepped into her room, she thought, _One day I'll have to repay him…_


	5. Locked and Surprises

**Locked**

A week later, it was nighttime and almost bedtime for Lauren. She walked down the hall from the kitchens, having eaten a scraped together garrison meal for yet another night due to her absentminded keeper. As she turned the corner, she saw a familiar musketeer coming the opposite way. "Lauren!" he hailed her. She met him halfway, stopping to talk. He looked rather agitated and was missing his shadow, Gil. "Do you know where Jacques went?"

_How sweet… He looks genuinely worried. Maybe I misjudged him._ "I think he's in his room. Why?" Lauren struggled to hide her knowing smile.

"No reason; I just haven't seen him all day. Thanks." He started to walk off, and Lauren turned to watch his retreating figure.

"Good night!" she called, and d'Artagnan gave a small wave of acknowledgement before pushing open the door to Jacques' room. Lauren walked on, taking the roundabout way to the lab. A door to the outside of the garrison burst open in front of her, and she stopped short startled. A sullen looking Jacques brushed past without even a glance, heading straight for her room.

Lauren almost walked on when a brilliant flash of inspiration took over her. _Maybe they need some alone time to work their issues out._ She ran on tiptoes to Duval's office. Seeing that it was empty, she rummaged through his desk drawers until she found what she was looking for. The master garrison key fit snugly in Lauren's hand as she ran back through the halls. As she neared her destination, the raised voices could already be heard.

"Where have you been?"

"None of your business. Duval gave me an assignment."

"You could have told me—"

"I didn't think you would notice."

"How could you say that? Of course I would notice you being gone, Jacqueline."

_Jacqueline, eh? Not an original undercover name, 'Jacques.'_ Lauren slowly crept up towards the voices. Using her fingertips, she slowly pulled the cracked door solidly shut. Neither party seemed to detect her presence. Hurriedly, she stuck the key in the lock, turning it until she heard the click. Lauren dropped down to her knees, peering through the keyhole. _Let the show begin…_

* * *

Jacqueline looked at him sharply. "That's 'Jacques' to you. And what are you doing in my room? Snooping? I thought you were above such things, _noble_ d'Artagnan."

"Just stop it, 'Jacques,'" he replied, none too nice. His patience for the woman had run out. "Why are you acting like this?"

"Why don't you ask one of your new friends? Or what? Did they abandon you?" she said in mock sympathy. She threw her baldric on a chair and pulled her jacket off, folding it roughly and setting in on the chest at the foot of her bed. The female musketeer straightened, looking straight into the eyes of d'Artagnan.

D'Artagnan refused to move out of the way. "Is that it? Did I abandon you?" Jacqueline remained silent. "I didn't forget what today was, Jacqueline. That's why I was worried about you."

* * *

Lauren held her breath on the other side of the door. _This is better than any soap opera I've ever seen... Kiss her. Kiss him! You know you want to…_

"What are you doing?" Lauren sprung back from the door like a snake had bitten her. She found the face she least wanted to see at the moment.

"Hello, Gil! I was just…" Lauren panicked. _How can I explain this? And how can I keep him from discovering Jacqueline?_ "Hey, will you take a walk with me?"

"Of course," Gil replied, offering her a hand to stand. She took it with a flirtatious smile. _Think back to Theatre Arts class…_ "But first, what were you looking at?" He moved towards the door, hand reaching for the knob.

Lauren pressed her back against it, blocking his way as she stumbled for an excuse. "It was nothing… I was just curious to see what was in there…"

"Don't think I'm stupid… That's someone's room. Why were you spying, Lauren?" he replied tartly. He tried to reach behind her to find the doorknob.

"I…" Lauren pressed back against the door some more, shrinking away from him. _God forgive me for what I'm about to do. _In one swift motion, she threw her arms around his neck and stood on tiptoe to bring her lips to his. She kissed him furiously, trying to dislodge the memory of her peeking through a keyhole.

Gil was caught by surprise but warmed up quickly, backing her up against the door. Then he regained his senses and backed away. "What was that for?" he panted, looking up and down the corridor for anyone who might have seen. "Duval could kick me out of the garrison for that!"

_If only I were so lucky…_ Aloud she replied, "I'm sorry, Gil—I just couldn't restrain myself…" _I wonder if a fake Southern accent has the same effect on French men._

"That's obvious…" d'Artagnan's voice drawled from the doorway. Lauren's sole wish was that the earth would open up and devour her from the spot.

"D'Artagnan!" she said, turning to face him. "What are you doing in there?" Jacqueline appeared beside him, dressed properly again with her jacket buttoned. "And Jacques, glad you found each other." The girl smirked at bit at the double meaning the sentence had.

Gil tried to explain, apparently on behalf of the girl's reputation by the worried looks he kept shooting at her. "We were just—"

"Yes, we know what you were 'just' about to do. Go to your room," Jacqueline growled at Gil, pleasure obvious underneath the irritation on her face. The boy turned tail and retreated. _Some gentleman_, Lauren thought.

"So what are you going to do to me?" Lauren asked, feeling timid but speaking courageously. She looked between them.

D'Artagnan answered simply, "We'll see what Siroc has to say about this."

"Instead of dealing with me yourself, you take me to Papa Siroc who will report to Duval who will berate me like a child?" Lauren asked indignantly. She lowered her voice a bit to continue, "You're just lucky that you caught Gil instead of Gil catching you two." A wink sealed her meaning.

Jacqueline glared daggers at her. D'Artagnan looked uncertainly between the two women, wondering if he should deny the claim verbally or pull out a sword and threaten someone. "She knows," Jacqueline mumbled to him. Then she started to chuckle, the noise growing into a hilarious laugh that forced Lauren to join in. Panicked by the sound of female laughter echoing through the halls, d'Artagnan pulled them both back inside the room. He was too confused to join in.

Jacqueline stopped after a few minutes, gasping for breath and wiping a tear from her eye. "We won't tell Siroc if you don't tell Siroc."

"Deal," Lauren grinned. She shook hands formally with the musketeer and felt a certain new kinship with the woman.

"So we're all good?" d'Artagnan asked. The two red faced women nodded at him. He nodded back looking rather delirious, but relieved.

_Poor baby…_ "How about I escort you to your room, monsieur?" Lauren bowed and held out an arm to him, mocking his deep, gallant tone. D'Artagnan raised an eyebrow but stood, walking out the door with her. Lauren could hear Jacqueline breaking into giggles again as she shut the door. _Thus begins a new chapter_

* * *

**Surprises**

Lauren groaned and squeezed her eyes tighter shut. Jacqueline had forced her way into the sleeping girl's room and pulled the blanket that was serving as a makeshift nightshade off of the window, flooding the room with midmorning light. "How can you sleep this late?" Jacqueline inquired. She pulled off Lauren's covers when she saw the half-asleep girl turn over.

"Fine! I'm up," Lauren rumbled, stretching and sitting up slowly with her feet dangling over the edge of the bed. "Where's the fire?"

"What fire?" Jacqueline asked. Choosing not to wait for an answer, she continued, "I asked Siroc and Captain Duval if you could go for a ride with me, and they both said yes. Get dressed and meet me in the stables."

The musketeer left shutting the door behind her before Lauren could get a single word out. "I don't want to ride; I want to sleep!" the girl told the closed door. She fell backwards on her pillow. _Just get up. At least you'll see something besides these stone walls…It has been almost two weeks since you saw the outside of the garrison._ Lauren groaned one more time and sat up, pulling her clothes towards her.

* * *

Jacqueline stood in the courtyard holding the reins of Bud and a beautiful grey mare. Lauren looked at her poor little horse, dressed in oversized musketeer tack just like his owner was dressed in an oversized musketeer uniform. She rubbed the gelding's nose. "A little heavier than an English saddle, eh boy?" Lauren adjusted her stirrups against her arm and stuck her left foot in the iron, swinging her right leg high over the cantle. "Ready, Jacques?" she asked from her tall perch.

The other woman mounted just as smoothly, and they were off. Jacqueline led Lauren through the busy streets, already crowded with people doing their everyday shopping. No one paid much attention to the two female musketeers riding in their midst besides getting out of the way of their horses.

They left the city through a large medieval gate, two people in the throng of hundreds passing through. The line of travelers thinned as they moved farther from Paris and turned off onto smaller roads. After a solid hour of riding, Lauren's stomach began to growl, reminding her that she had forgotten to grab breakfast. She looked sideways at the musketeer riding beside her. "Um… Jacques? Would you happen to have something to eat?"

"I brought a picnic for us. The place I wanted to take you is just a bit further; we'll eat there," Jacqueline explained, still utilizing her manly disguise. Lauren kept quiet until they arrived at a small clearing, only yards away from a clear stream. Jacqueline dismounted, tied her horse's reins to a low branch, and started unloading her saddlebags. Lauren slid down off her horse's back and followed the musketeer's example. Together, they arranged the picnic lunch and sat down on the ground before the conversation really began.

"So they didn't think it was odd for you to request to take me, the crazy girl, out for a ride? They don't know you're a woman, right?" Lauren said first, adding a moment later, "Well, except d'Artagnan."

"No," Jacqueline began, "but I have a reputation for kindness to the fairer sex, and they probably think that an afternoon out would do you some good."

"Or that it would get me out of their hair for a day," Lauren replied with a small smile. "After I ran out of calculus theorems, Siroc seemed to lose his interest, and I don't think Duval ever liked me much."

Jacqueline put on a sympathetic face. "It's not that at all. Siroc is very one track minded; he's probably just distracted by one of his experiments right now. Duval… well, he just likes…"

"Women who don't wear pants?" Lauren put in.

Jacqueline grimaced. "Well, yes. I was going to say 'traditional women' myself, but that's true. He's not used to being challenged by a woman, especially one as unusual as you. Just give them all time to get to know you."

"I don't plan on being here that long," Lauren told her. "This is all my dream, remember?" She gestured widely to everything around them. Jacqueline shifted uncomfortably as she remembered why Lauren was in the garrison in the first place. _Maybe I shouldn't remind people that I'm crazy…_

Lauren figured it was prudent to change the subject. "So, what is the story behind d'Artagnan? Where do you find a guy that honorable?" Jacqueline let out a feminine laugh and replied with enthusiasm. Lauren leaned back with a chunk of cheese and baguette in hand, ready for a nice, long tale.

After numerous stories about d'Artagnan's daring adventures, Lauren asked about the other musketeers she had met. "I don't really know much," Jacqueline told her, "but d'Artagnan said something about Ramon being from an aristocratic family, but he somehow fell out with them. Siroc is a total mystery. D'Artagnan says he showed up one day and locked himself up with the Captain in his office for hours. When they came out, Duval had declared him the newest musketeer and ordered a storeroom cleared out for a workshop."

"And what's your story?" Lauren asked carefully. "How does a seventeenth century woman become a Musketeer?"

Jacqueline's face was solemn as she began, "I was Jacqueline Roget, a peasant farm girl. I'd fence with my brother in the barn, pretending to be the Legend of the musketeers, d'Artagnan's father. About a year and a half ago, Cardinal Mazarin showed up in a carriage at my family farm…" Jacqueline continued her story, telling all the details from her father's death to saving her brother. "When the flying machine crashed into the tree, my shirt came flying off." She blushed a faint pink. "And that's how d'Artagnan found out that I was a woman."

Lauren laughed long and hard, imagining the look on d'Artagnan's face when he first realized that the young nobleman who had beaten him with a sword was just a farm girl trying to save her little brother. When the fit subsided, Lauren asked, "So what happened to Gerard?"

Jacqueline looked down, tugging at the chain around her next to expose a gold cross hidden under her uniform. "He had a new life in America, but he came back to bring my old necklace to me; he said it was important. To make a long story short, the Guards found us, and I was wounded in the fight. D'Artagnan left to get Siroc and Ramon to help me, and I fell into a daze from the blood loss. Then Gerard fell asleep when he should have been guarding our prisoner, the Cardinal's Captain. Bernard got himself untied and killed Gerard, but I managed to kill my brother's murderer before he could kill me too." Jacqueline took a deep choked up breath, holding back tears with the discipline of a soldier. Lauren instantly regretted asking her for details when it obviously hurt so much.

"I had to let Siroc in on my secret so he could patch me up; he's discreet enough and didn't ask for any details so he could plead innocent if the situation ever occurred. We buried Gerard outside the cottage." Jacqueline's jaw shook as she took another deep breath. "That was a year ago last night."

_Ohhh…_ Lauren thought, _That's what d'Artagnan meant last night._ "I'm truly sorry, Jacqueline," was all Lauren could say. "I can't even begin to imagine…"

"That's all right, thank you," Jacqueline said, putting on a brave smile even as she sniffed lightly. "Tell me about your family."

Lauren paused a moment. _How to describe my family…_ "My dad is a scientist turned businessman; he's the funniest man you'll ever meet and the kindest. My mother and I don't get along a lot of the time, but she always goes out of her way to take care of me. And I have one younger brother, Nicholas. I love hanging out with him; he's probably my best friend, and he always makes me laugh. We can fight and be friends again five minutes later." She had started off slowly, but the words came in a rushing crescendo by the end.

"We have so much in common!" Jacqueline told her, grinning with delight and reaching out to grip the girl's hand in new friendship. "I think God brought us together for a reason."

_I almost think so too,_ Lauren thought, giving the musketeer a genuine smile. Jacqueline's grin faded as she gazed at something behind Lauren. "What is it?" the younger woman asked confusedly.

Jacqueline jumped to her feet, pulling her rapier out with a metallic ring. "Run and find cover! I'll get to you later." Lauren turned her head and saw a familiar red uniform times three riding up. The Guards dismounted at the edge of the far side of the stream and began to wade across, swords bared. Jacqueline tapped her shoulder with something hard. "Take this and run. Now!" she screamed. Lauren grabbed the item and headed out on foot, running blindly through the trees.

The three men crossed the creek and scrambled up the riverbank. Jacqueline waited at the top. She was able to bring a sword hilt down on one man's head, pushing his unconscious body back into the water. A second man charged, engaging Jacqueline in a duel. "Find the other one!" he hollered to his companion. The last man up the bank headed into the forest after Lauren. Jacqueline made one effort to stop him, lunging sideways to block his way, but her opponent moved with her, and she had to defend herself or die.

Lauren could hear only her breathing and the pounding of her heart. She slowed, looking back the way she had come for any sign of followers. Convinced it was safe enough, she collapsed on the ground at the base of a tree, panting heavily. She finally saw the object Jacqueline had thrust at her—a pistol.

Lauren dropped the thing in disgust. _She thinks I would shoot somebody?_ Lauren shivered at the thought. _I'll just wait it out. It could only take her maybe ten minutes to fight them off and get all our stuff together. Maybe ten more to find me if she has to bring the horses through the trees._ Satisfied that she would be riding back to the garrison in less than half an hour, Lauren began to relax.

At least until the brush crackled behind her.


	6. Followed and Abandonment

**Followed**

Lauren tensed. Someone was on the other side of the tree. She swallowed hard, slowly reaching out for the pistol. She cocked it. _Here goes nothing…_ As fast as she had ever moved in her life, Lauren stood, twisting around the tree and leveling her pistol at the figure there. Everything seemed to blur as she cried, "Don't come any closer!"

The man shaped form raised its arms up slowly. "It's all right, Lauren. It's me—it's d'Artagnan."

_I know that voice._ The mist cleared, and she dropped the gun, her hands shaking uncontrollably. Lauren looked down at them incredulously. _Why am I doing this? I didn't even shoot._

D'Artagnan came over quickly when the pistol fell harmlessly to the ground. He stooped to pick it up, releasing the lever and tucking it into his belt. "Why are you out here alone? Where's Jacqueline?" he said a little too forcefully. Lauren looked up at him. _I could have shot him…I could have _killed_ him._ D'Artagnan seemed to notice her inability to speak. "I'm sorry," he apologized soothingly. "You are fine. It's all right now." He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, and Lauren allowed herself to bury her face in his chest to regain her self-control. She slowed her breathing and let the shaking subside before pulling away.

"She's fighting. Three men came, in red. She told me to run," was what she blurted out. D'Artagnan jumped ahead of her.

"Show me the way," he ordered, somehow sounding urgent and gentle at the same time. Lauren nodded and started off at a fast walk, taking care to go exactly the way she came. Her eyes were intently focused on the ground when d'Artagnan jerked her backwards. "Look out," he cried as a rapier came crashing down out of nowhere. Lauren fell backwards, and the blade drew a thin line of blood across her outstretched palm. She scrambled away on the ground as d'Artagnan engaged the third Guardsman in a duel. Glancing around, she realized that he must have hidden himself in the trees, waiting for Jacqueline to come looking for her so he could launch a surprise attack.

Lauren watched with wide eyes her first real swordfight. D'Artagnan seemed to finish him with relative ease, and she did not even realize it was over until d'Artagnan was picking her up from the ground. His face was only inches from hers as he stared directly into her eyes. "Don't look at him, look at me." Lauren's gaze instantly snapped to meet his. "I need you to show me to Jacqueline. Just keep moving."

Lauren was numb, but she started walking obediently, her feet carrying her forward of their own will. Her hand stung, and tiny drops of blood began to drip off as she walked on endlessly. When the clearing was plainly visible ahead though the trees, d'Artagnan passed her, rushing in to aid his comrade. Lauren made it the last few feet to the edge and leaned heavily on the tree beside her. Jacqueline was kneeling next to one of the red men sprawled out on the dirt. _He looks dead_, Lauren thought aimlessly. She had never seen a dead man, but something inside her could tell. D'Artagnan stepped lightly across the dirt, putting a hand on Jacqueline's shoulder.

She stood, and said teasingly, "Of course you show up after I do all the dirty work."

"Hey, I had my share, too," he nodded over at Lauren. Following his gesture, Jacqueline shook her head at him and came over to the disoriented girl, concern evident on her face. Taking note of her bloody hand, she guided Lauren over to the horses. An emergency supply of bandages was tucked away in a saddlebag, and she wrapped the cut in thick layers.

"I suppose you couldn't take a moment to patch her up?" she asked d'Artagnan without looking at him. She tucked the loose end in the wrap as he answered.

"I wanted to make sure you were all right," he said defensively. After a pause, he admitted sheepishly, "And I didn't see it until now."

Jacqueline snorted. "Of course a _man_ wouldn't notice something like that," she told Lauren in a low voice. Startled by the remark, Lauren gave a strangled sounding laugh. It shook her out of her funk.

"Don't take me on any more field trips, okay?" Lauren said, prodding the bandage with her other hand's free fingers.

"As long as you promise not to kiss Gil in front of my bedroom door," Jacqueline replied with a mischievous gleam in her eye and a half smile playing on her lips. Lauren's mouth opened wide in astonishment. _I know she didn't just bring that up again…_

D'Artagnan could not hide his wide grin but nevertheless changed the subject. "I think we'd better get back. I still have to find my horse…"

* * *

Lauren sat up on Siroc's worktable once again. "My scraped up face has only just healed, and I'm back here again," she said exasperatedly. The doctor himself was only half listening, dabbing the blood away from her hand with a hot, wet cloth to clean the wound and assess the damage.

"It was only a superficial cut, nothing really hurt." He only seemed to be speaking his thoughts aloud. Siroc dabbed his fingers in his special ointment and smeared it across Lauren's palm. Jacqueline came forward to re-bandage the injured hand.

"Anything to prevent an infection?" Lauren asked. She could not really recall the extent of medical knowledge in the seventeenth century.

Siroc looked off dreamily, "I've been working on experimental disease prevention, but all I've found is an enzyme that is in many body fluids, like tears. It has a natural disease fighting effect, but not against the strongest infectious agents."

Lauren sighed. _I might regret this later…_ "Could I get some moldy bread then?"

Jacqueline frowned, glancing up from the task at hand. "Why would you want molded bread?"

"The mold has penicillin in it," Lauren explained. "It's an antibiotic—a 'disease killing agent' or whatever. Someone told me in a history class that that's how some people survived the plague, if they had enough penicillin mold in their system when it struck."

"How did you figure that out?" asked Siroc, setting his notebook down again.

"I happen to be related to Alexander Fleming, the man who discovered it," she replied proudly. "Besides, it's pretty common knowledge in my time; penicillin has saved its share of people."

"I'll have to set up an experiment…" the inventor mumbled, and Lauren knew she had lost him. She hopped off the table, taking care to not use her bad hand, and Jacqueline silently accompanied her out of the lab to the kitchens in search of moldy bread.

* * *

**Abandonment**

Lauren walked beside Jacqueline, the musketeer silenced by guilt at having been indirectly responsible for her injury. Lauren managed to pull out a few words of reassurance to break the awkward barrier between them. "Thanks for what you did out there, Jacques. I knew you would save the day."

The slightly older and taller woman looked sideways at Lauren, nodding her gratitude. Before either could get out another word, a certain voice rang out through the corridor.

Gil jogged up from behind them, panting slightly as though he had been running the halls. He nodded toward Jacqueline, but spoke only to Lauren. "D'Artagnan said you were hurt—are you all right?"

Lauren exchanged a look with Jacqueline, and the latter abruptly excused herself. "I'd better get back to work," she said, making her escape by stepping quickly forward and around the corner.

_I'm going to kill that woman for abandoning me,_ Lauren thought, steeling herself to face Gil alone. She lifted her arm to display the bandaged hand. "Just a scratch; it's nothing, really."

"It's not 'nothing,'" Gil replied as he took the wounded hand in his own. He gently kissed the fingers sticking out from the bulky cloth. "I would die before letting one hair on your head be harmed." His green gaze met hers, and Lauren froze.

_What is this?_ she asked herself. _Why am I turning to jelly whenever he meets my eyes?_ Aloud, she squeaked, "That wouldn't be necessary." Clearing her throat in embarrassment, Lauren withdrew her hand slowly, ignoring the small pleasure she felt in sliding her fingers through his, and looked down, away, just so she would not fall into his trap. She had never been skilled in dealing with affection—a quick flashback to a certain boy in her Government/Economics class brought a blush to her cheeks.

"Are you doing anything tonight?" Gil asked softly. Lauren glanced up quickly and looked away again.

"What?"

"Tonight," he repeated. "The Café Nouveau is having a Rhapsody Night. I was wondering if you would accompany me." He looked down at her earnestly.

_Do they go on dates in the seventeenth century?_ she mused. She was just about to form the words for a polite rejection when her mouth rebelled. "Yes," Lauren's voice said, the short affirmative ringing loudly in her ears. _What have I done?_

Gil's face lit up instantly, his delight almost making up for her slip. Lauren, however, felt obliged to add, "If Siroc allows me to, of course. Shall we go ask him now?" _There! Papa Siroc will never agree for me to go out with him, and I'll be off the hook, looking none the worse for wear._ Lauren gave Gil a shining smile as she turned back to the lab, and he beamed at her retreating figure.

* * *

"Yes?" Lauren's tone was incredulous. She stood facing her jury of Jacqueline, d'Artagnan, and Ramon and the judge, Siroc. _He's also my executioner,_ Lauren thought, a lump forming in her throat.

"You may go with Gilbert. Ramon will be there, and Jacques and d'Artagnan have promised to keep an eye on you as well. It's all right with me," Siroc smiled, like he was doing her a favor by letting her go. Lauren felt like pulling a pretend swoon; really, really tempted she was. D'Artagnan looked like the cat that had caught the canary, all smug because Gil had finally gotten hooked up with girl. Jacqueline was simply wearing her secret, knowing smile, and Ramon managed to look excited for some reason.

In fact, the Spaniard was thrilled. "You will be able to see the best poets in Paris at work, in their element, at the source of inspiration. Do you like poetry?"

Lauren sighed; she could never escape from this commitment now. "I like songs. Do they count?"

With a quick flick of a gaze at the dirty crumpled grey and blue Lauren wore, Jacqueline interrupted, "I'll help you find a nicer outfit to wear." Lauren raised an eyebrow at the female musketeer. "Not a dress," she sighed as she stood, "a clean uniform. Don't worry; we aren't trying to change you." She gave a quick wink as she led the disgruntled Lauren out the door.

* * *

At dusk that evening, a parade of five musketeers left the garrison. One led the way, already warming up loudly for the long night of rhapsody ahead. Two old friends walked side by side, murmuring in low voices, smiling about whatever they were discussing. And a rather short looking grey paced stiffly next to her companion who kept stealing glances her way. A strange sight if anyone had actually been out to notice this odd party; the streets were strangely deserted. _This Rhapsody Night must be a bigger deal than I thought_, noted Lauren. She made a point of staring at the back of d'Artagnan's head as she walked behind him, pointedly ignoring the looks of Gil.

And yes, the café was more packed than a crowd milling before the Mona Lisa in the modern Louvre. Ramon darted in bravely to catch up on the poetry he had already missed. Jacqueline and d'Artagnan found themselves a table for two in the back, and Lauren swallowed hard as Gil firmly took hold of her hand to guide her through the mass of cheering spectators. He dragged her to the last open table, off to the side of the performers.

Lauren dropped into her chair before Gil could attempt to pull it out for her or do something equally as unnecessary. Her eyes wandered over to the present recitation, and she tried to involve herself in the words, but her heart was not in it. Defeated, she turned to the attentions of Gilbert Chantal. The young Musketeer had called over a barmaid. "Coffee for me, mademoiselle, and—Lauren?" He inquired with a raised eyebrow.

"Hot chocolate, if you please," the girl ordered, and the waitress scurried back to collect a round of drinks from the counter to please the ever-growing crowd. Lauren forced a small smile. "So… do you 'rhapsody', Gil?" Then, she mentally smacked herself. _What kind of question was that?_

But the boy took it with a grin. "My mother was the poetic kind; instead of bedtime stories, we got verses that she came up with on the spur of the moment. But I'm nothing myself, more of an art appreciator. You?"

Lauren had a brief mental image of Gil's mother spinning off some freestyle rap. _That intern Mlle. Drake did say that the French liked Eminem…_ Snapping back to reality—or rather the alternate reality that she was currently wading through—she answered his question. "Appreciator as well. You have to be outstandingly clever to bend words to your will well enough to be a successful poet. I don't think I have enough art in my soul."

"I doubt that," he told her with a smile, green eyes locking in a steady, warm gaze. "You seem to use words to your advantage well enough." The barmaid chose then to return with their drinks, placing the steaming cups before them and flouncing away to the next table.

Lauren frowned internally, taking the moment of silence to sip the rich beverage and let the aroma of rich chocolate fill her nose. After a surveying the crowd and catching a line or two of the current poem, she returned her thoughts to the table. _Just what is he playing at?_ Changing the subject, she said, "Well, now I know you have an uncle and a mother. How about the rest of your family?"

Gil set down his coffee, taking a breath to begin. "Not much to tell… I'm the third son of…" The time imposter settled back in her chair with the cup of chocolate to her lips. _Just get a man talking about himself…_

From across the room in a back booth, Jacqueline caught sight of the young couple at the table in the midst of the crowd. Gilbert was talking, and it looked like Lauren was even laughing. A small smile pulled at the corner of the female musketeer's mouth. Her companion caught the twitch and lazily asked, "Something amusing, Jacques?" He took a long drink from his rapidly cooling coffee and followed her gaze out into the rhapsodizing mass. He was content to stay in place, relatively alone in this crowd with the disguised woman he called friend.

Jacqueline nodded to the youths in deep conversation. "I think we found a way to occupy our garrison guest, and his name is Gil. Maybe he'll break her stubborn streak as well," she mused.

D'Artagnan glanced between the two musketeer women. "So you're a matchmaker now? Any chance that I can provide the same service for you?" he asked softly. Softly compared to the dull roar of the Rhapsody Night audience.

His companion shot him a stern look. "Guess not…" he sighed, his hands going up in a gesture of surrender. "…yet."


	7. Rhapsody and Discoveries

**Author's Note: **Lauren's rhapsody in this chapter is actually a song by the Canadian group Doba Caracol, originally in French. I edited it a bit to make it more poem-like. Enjoy!

**

* * *

**

**Rhapsody**

Lauren laughed uncontrollably as Gil finished a story about his brothers stealing his clothes while he was swimming. "…And then as I'm standing in the water looking for something to cover up with, a group of local noble ladies walks by. Luckily, one of them knew my oldest brother and lent me a parasol while the rest giggled from a distance. It was probably the most humiliating experience of my life, trying to run home with only a sunshade for cover," he finished, his face split by a grin and his eyes shining with amusement as he chuckled a little at the memory.

Lauren snorted with laughter, slowly bringing her breathing back down to normal. She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye as she spoke, "Wow. That would have been a sight to see." Meeting his happy gaze, she had a quick thought, _Could I actually be having fun?_ Gil was a lot more interesting than she had ever thought… _Maybe._

There was no time to expand on that theory, however, when Ramon arrived at the table. "And now, senorita, let's see what lines you can spin." The Spaniard picked up her hand from the table. "Please?"

Lauren shook her head. "Oh no, not me. I couldn't rhapsodize my way out of a paper bag." She tried to shake off his grip, but Gil had rounded the table to take her other arm. Together, the two men pulled her from her chair into the waiting audience. "Really, I can't…" But the girl's protests were ignored as they lifted her onto the center table, the make-shift stage.

"But I don't know—" Lauren began, trying to speak over the cheering crowd. She spun around, seeing Ramon's toothy grin, Jacqueline and d'Artagnan looking over from their table, and catching an encouraging nod and wink from Gil. Taking a deep breath, she began uneasily, but picking up on the spirit of the crowd, she could speak more confidently.

"J'ai le feu du volcan (I have the fire of a volcano)  
La chaleur du desert (The heat of the desert)  
La saveur de la Terre (The flavor of the Earth)  
La lueur d'une lune Claire (The light of the clear moon)

J'ai la fraicheur d'une riviere (I have the coolness of the river)  
La colere du typhon (The anger of the typhoon)  
J'ai l'amour d'une mere (I have the love of a mother)  
Les torments des Quatre-Vents (The torment of the Four Winds)

Comme ils tombent, comme ils tombent (As they fall, as they fall)  
Les flocons de l'hiver (The snowflakes of winter)  
Ils s'entassent dans me tete (They pile up in my head)  
Et mes perles d'amour (And my pearls of love)  
Dans un ecrin de poussiere (In a jewelry box of dust)

Etrange comme je t'aime (Strange how I love you)

J'ai la lumiere du Soleil (I have the light of the sun)  
Le frisson de la fougere (The shudder of the fern)  
La rudesse de l'hiver (The harshness of winter)  
La douceur du miel (The sweetness of honey)

Comme le fleuve (Like the river)  
Je m'abreuve a l'ocean de ta pensee (I draw from the ocean of your thoughts)  
Je boirai toute l'eau de la mer (I will drink all the water of the sea)  
Pour que tu vienes m'aimer (If you will come to love me)

Etrange comme je t'aime (Strange how I love you)…"

And the crowd burst into cheers. Lauren smiled nervously at the applause and made a few shallow bows to her fans. But she was all too glad when Ramon and Gil came forward to help her down. Her hands were shaking with leftover nerves, and she doubted that her knees would have held her upright without Gil's supporting hand on her back as they headed out of the crowd. People stepped aside for Lauren, reaching out to touch her arm or shoulder like she was a rock star or something.

As though reading her mind, Gil led her past their empty table and out the door of the café into the cool autumn night. The chill wind felt good on Lauren's flushed cheeks—her whole body seemed afire with excitement and nerves all mixed up with the embarrassment of standing before a crowd and having them cheer her name. _I could never get used to that! _she told herself.

A shiver went though her but not because of the sudden breeze. Gil had moved his hand from her back to her arm and slid his fingers into her hand, lifting it for those strangely pleasing kisses on the knuckles. "That was amazing," he whispered, his lips tickling the skin on the back of her hand.

Not wanting to break the spell that seemed to have fallen on the quiet street, she brushed off the praise softly, "I was nothing really, not compared to Ramon or anyone else. I'm just a novelty right now which is all that interests them."

"But Ramon doesn't have your eyes." He told her, his free hand lifting to tuck loose strands of hair behind her ear.

Lauren swallowed. _Stop it!_ she told herself. _This is what happens in movies. He is just saying that. Don't fall for such a cliché. This is not real!_ The last one rang true somewhere in her head. This whole thing was a dream, maybe even a nightmare. But something else checked that thought as Gil leaned in for a kiss.

_If it's a dream, you may as well enjoy it._

* * *

**Discoveries**

The next day started off normally enough. Lauren woke up to the sound of practicing swordsmen under her window. Stretching out the kinks of deep sleep, she yawned; last night had been much later than she had grown accustomed to, and she knew that a nap might be in order for the afternoon. Tugging on a jacket and sliding on the low paddock boots she had brought into this time, Lauren stepped out of her room to find something for breakfast. Right away her eyes fell on Gil, sitting on a bench at Siroc's big worktable. She sucked in a breath as he looked up to see her there. He stood with a smile.

"Good morning, cherie. Would you like to go with me to the café for breakfast?" His eyes looked at her hopefully, crossing the ten feet of distance between them to make Lauren feel as though he was standing right before her.

Shifting uncomfortably, she turned him down. "Normally I'd say yes, but last night was so late. My head feels stuffed with cotton…" Trailing off, Lauren saw Siroc glance at them from the corner of his eye, and she wanted to back up and hide in her room. "I'll just beg a spare croissant off of someone here. Thanks though."

The glint of hurt in his eyes made her regret last night's kiss. It obviously meant more to him than she assumed. But Lauren had never had a 'boyfriend' per se; just a few odd dates with guys that were friends already, and those never really went anywhere. At home she prided herself on being a student first, everything else later. That was the stuff that got you into Georgetown, her dream school. But you cannot learn about relationships from a book, and Lauren was surely lacking in this department. How could she discourage Gil or tell him that she felt it was casual thing instead of a wait-outside-my-door-until-I-wake-up kind of thing? _And it doesn't seem exactly healthy to have a dream boyfriend—as in a boyfriend _in_ a dream…_

As all this was going through her head, Gil had moved forward to invade her personal space bubble. "I have patrol in an hour," he told her in a low voice like he was divulging a secret for her ears only. "Would you like to go somewhere?"

Lauren was very uncertain as to the connotations of 'somewhere' in this century and felt inclined to decline. "I think I'll just rest. Maybe later." She strode past him, shoulder brushing his. Gil turned to glance at Siroc, the one musketeer who seemed to keep the boy in check, at least around Lauren.

"Later then," he agreed, storming out of the room. A sigh of relief escaped the girl's lips before she could catch herself. Dropping onto the bench and crossing arms on the table before her, she put her head down.

The inventor took a rare break from his mold growing experiment to regard her carefully. "I don't like to jump to conclusions, but I can see that something is going on between you two." Lauren grunted. Siroc apparently took that as a sign to continue his monologue. "After days of pestering, you finally agree to go out with him. With my blessing, you find yourself having a surprisingly interesting night. Good conversation, good drinks, good rhapsody…" He had begun to pace the room, hands folded behind his back, like a detective piecing together all the clues to a mystery. Lauren stifled a giggle when she peeked up to see him. "And you end the night alone with him, sharing a good-night kiss before he walks you home."

Lauren's head shot up. "What? How did you—" she sputtered. The man's innocent grin was grating on her last nerve. Her face went pale and then red with embarrassment; Siroc had become like a big brother to her, and big brothers should not know the details of your love life.

"A little birdie…" he began but the rest was masked by Lauren's loud frustrated growl. The inventor's eyebrows rose, and he changed his answer to the truth. "Gil told d'Artagnan who told me, okay?"

"Of course, that son of a—" she muttered, wishing that Gil had developed the gentlemanly trait of 'don't kiss and tell' and quickly realizing that d'Artagnan would have ferreted the confession out of the boy sooner or later anyway.

Siroc leaned over the table to speak frankly. "I know this is uncomfortable for you, but it isn't easy for me either. Just—" he cleared his throat roughly. "Watch yourself. If he tries anything—just find me, alright?"

Lauren's lips twitched as she gave a small smile. "Aww, you care about me don't you Papa Siroc? And after all this time I thought I just annoyed you."

He shrugged, "Now I'm not saying that you don't annoy me…" His own grin betrayed the mock seriousness, but he meant what he said next. "But your mind is far too good to waste. I don't want anything to happen to you, Tisoeur."

Tisoeur was_ petit soeur_, or little sister. "You mean if anything happened to me, the Captain would give you a slap on the wrist—especially since I'm consorting with his nephew," she elaborated sweetly.

He straightened, returning to his work. "Actually as far as slapping goes, I was more worried about Jacques."

"Worried about Jacques what?" came the female musketeer's voice from the doorway. Lauren turned to see Jacqueline enter with d'Artagnan in tow. Siroc wisely remained silent.

D'Artagnan apparently did not get the hint as he dropped down on the bench next to Lauren and elbowed her roughly. "Have a good night?" he asked rather suggestively.

"It was pretty typical actually," she replied in a snobbish tone, for once meeting those puppy dog eyes of his without the faintest hint of a crush. "How about you and 'Jacques?'"

"What's going on here?" asked a bewildered Jacqueline, looking between the three to try and figure what they were hiding from her.

The inventor rejoined the torment. "Why don't we ask… Lauren?" he chimed in with an amused look.

"Okay, hold on," Lauren stood to address the gathered. "For everyone's listening pleasure, yes, me and Gil—er, Gil and I kissed last night after my rhapsody. Happy now? You people disgust me!" And she retreated into her room with the hint of a door slam.

Jacqueline shot d'Artagnan a dirty look. The legend's son retaliated verbally. "Was it something I said?"


	8. Duel and Stress

**Duel**

"I'll go talk to her," Jacqueline announced, ignoring d'Artagnan's comment. She took a few steps towards Lauren's angrily closed door.

Siroc gave the barest glance up at her. "I just did. I think she just wants to be left alone for now." His hand continued to scribble furiously in a notebook.

The legend's son dared to open his mouth again. "Looks like a woman thing to me, Jacques. It's better to let her cool down, I think." The man had the nerve to look serious as he peered over at Siroc's current experiment.

Jacqueline, fuming at these men giving her advice on a woman, spun on him. "Oh, you _think_, do you? That's a surprise!" Her hands flew up in exasperation as she continued, "D'Artagnan, with the things you say, sometimes I just want to—" But she had to stop when he raised an eyebrow to remind her of the open door and the inventor's presence.

"What?" d'Artagnan baited, knowing she could not really reply. "Have a wrestling match?" A rakish grin stretched across his face.

The female musketeer's nose went into the air, and she sniffed. "I'd much rather cut off an appendage with a rapier." And she stormed out of the lab without another word. Although enjoying the view as she walked out, the musketeer did not know whether to laugh at or be afraid of her comment. Choosing to overlook it for now, d'Artagnan could not get another word out before a Spaniard burst in.

Ramon strode in theatrically with arms high in the air. "Amigos, the musketeers have a new recruit! Duval just accepted some upstart from the south—noble second son or some such thing."

D'Artagnan grinned as he stated, "New, eh? I'd better go welcome him properly." He stood, picking up his baldric and rapier where he had slung it over a chair back. Sliding it on over his shoulder, he called back to the other man in the room, "Coming, Siroc?"

"I wouldn't dare miss a chance to see you humiliate a recruit," the inventor answered perhaps a little sarcastically, but he was already taking off his apron and laying it out on a bench. Ramon grinned and led the way down.

* * *

Lauren sat on the windowsill of her room. She watched the few wispy clouds cross the autumn blue sky as she calmed from her 'moment,' but a bit of a commotion in the courtyard below drew her attention back down to earth. Duval strode out of the garrison door across the yard with a finely dressed young man, most likely noble as far as the time traveler could tell. The other musketeers stopped their exercises to gather round to introduce themselves and mess around with the new guy.

To the girl's amusement, Jacqueline waited on the outskirts of the crowd, studying the man from a distance. Lauren could see from her perch that the recruit was rather handsome—high cheekbones, impeccably groomed black hair, and light eyes, though she could not tell the exact color from so far away. She mused that he would have made a good model slash actor back home in the real world. Her thoughts trailed off as the action below sped up. Some of the musketeers had caught sight of Jacqueline and began calling for a duel—Jacques versus the new guy. Lauren snorted as the man gave the slight musketeer a once over and agreed. _He has no idea what he's up against_, she thought with a snicker, recalling the woman's easy defeat of two Guardsmen the day before.

Jacqueline and the man drew rapiers just as d'Artagnan showed up leading Ramon and Siroc. The three took up places to the side for a clear view of their friend's fight. The legend's son looked quite amused to see the woman thrashing someone other than himself; his eyes traced her every move, maybe taking notes on how to beat her next time, but most likely just admiring the view. All the musketeers smugly watched as Jacqueline drove the recruit all over the court; the men jumped aside whenever the pair got too close, occupied in their personal battle as they were. Assured of the female's victory, Lauren's eyes wandered around the crowd noticing some vaguely familiar faces from her rambles to the garrison kitchen—oh, she managed to get out without supervision often enough.

Then she found Gil in the crowd. To Lauren's considerable discomfort, he was staring straight at her through the window. Forcing a small smile, she gave a little wave to appear friendly and maybe make up for her brush off that morning. He did not see her efforts, however; his eyes had gone back to the fight. The girl in the window followed his line of sight and gasped.

Jacqueline had lost. It seemed unbelievable, but the girl's own eyes could not lie. There the female musketeer was, sprawled out on her back on the ground. _How could I miss that? What happened?_ were the first questions that went through Lauren's mind. And then a scarier one—_Why isn't she getting up? _The loser had not stirred from her spot on the cobblestones. The victor had put away his rapier and pushed his way out of the crowd of uniformed musketeers who were pressing in to see their fallen comrade. D'Artagnan and Siroc rushed in, and the other men made room for the doctor and Jacques' best friend.

Lauren's eyes swept the crowd once again, trying to get a hint as to what happened. The men's expressions were unreadable from her height, but she did note that Gil had disappeared. With a small shudder, she pulled back from the window. _This dream isn't so much fun after all…_

* * *

**Stress**

Lauren opened her door to the lab when she heard the commotion coming closer. Standing in the doorway, she watched Ramon and d'Artagnan carry their fallen comrade in on a stretcher followed by an uncommonly anxious looking inventor. Duval and a crowd of musketeers had trailed them all the way from the courtyard. Jacqueline was gently laid out on the big table that had been hastily cleared by Siroc, and he murmured to the Spaniard beside him, "Ramon, get the spectators out of here please. And keep the door shut."

The tall musketeer nodded his assent and strode back to the door. "Jacques is in good hands, amigos. Let the doctor do his work—out! Out, out!" He shooed the babbling men back, closing the door behind himself so only the Captain lingered a moment. For the first time Lauren saw a tenderness in the man; he was truly afraid for the life of his soldier.

Siroc was at the hearth pouring hot water from the kettle into a shallow bowl, and he had d'Artagnan pulling strips of clean cloth from a laundry bag that had never been sorted. Leaning heavily on his cane, Duval came forward to the edge of the table, looking down at the Musketeer lying so still and quiet there. The inventor turned to carry the bowl over but paused when he saw the Captain standing there. D'Artagnan too was frozen; Jacqueline was utterly defenseless, her feminine features smooth and open for anyone to see. Duval's voice sounded a little gruffer than usual when he spoke. "Take care of him, Siroc—he's one of my best."

The blonde man nodded, approaching the table slowly. "I'll do my best," he said in a low rumble. "Let me do my work, sir."

The Captain shook his head slowly and left, closing the door gently behind him. Lauren let out the breath she had not even known she was holding. _He didn't seem to notice. He was too blinded by grief._ She recalled something Ramon had told her: the men here were brothers-in-arms, and it was only natural that the Captain became their father and they, his sons—_or daughter as in Jacqueline's case_.

But now Lauren was still puzzled as to the female musketeer's injury. No bone stuck oddly out of place, no blood from a cut or thrust soaked her uniform. Her question was only half answered when Siroc motioned for d'Artagnan to turn the patient on her side. Lauren saw matted blood in the hair on the back of her head. _That would be from her head connecting with cobblestone, so what would cause her to fall? _The others were apparently as confused as she. Siroc began to clean the wound out with hot water as d'Artagnan held her in place. Under his breath, the legend's son muttered, "I'm going to find that man and make him pay for what he's done to her…"

Keeping his voice low and meeting the musketeer's eyes briefly, the doctor replied, "The man did nothing—something else caused her to pass out under the stress of a duel, a previous condition."

"What? What would cause her to faint? She's always managed to beat me with no problem," he demanded bitterly.

"Any number of things—" Siroc rinsed out the bloodied cloth in the bowl, squeezing the tainted water out. "It could be overexertion, a wound that weakened her, maybe poison in her blood. Was she acting normal today? Anything strange you can recall from the last week?" Lauren noted that he called her a 'she,' the first time she had ever heard him acknowledge the female musketeer's sex.

Siroc had finished with Jacqueline's head and softly laid a clean cloth under it before rolling her gently on her back when d'Artagnan answered, "I don't know—I don't think she's done anything. But you know how secretive she is…"

"Come on, d'Artagnan," the inventor urged, wiping the blood from his hands with another rag. "You are the closest to her. Anything at all that's changed? Unexplained pains, a change in her diet, strange behavior…"

Gazing down at the motionless form on the table, d'Artagnan's brow furrowed. "Well, after we duel in the mornings, she doesn't eat breakfast anymore; she just disappears until it's time for patrol. She said she doesn't want to eat away all my money, but that was a week or two ago. Does that mean anything?"

"So she hasn't been eating…" Siroc mused. He followed his friend's line of sight down to her still face; dark smudges under her eyes stood out on pale skin and a line had formed on her forehead that neither had noticed until now.

A thought occurred to Lauren, and she called to them from her doorway. "She practices at all hours."

Siroc looked over at her, d'Artagnan spinning around to face her as well. The first asked softly, "What do you mean?"

The girl leaned a shoulder on the wall for support under their intense eyes. "Once I woke up in the middle of the night and saw her doing some sort of sword dance thing. She was out there for hours, and I saw it two other times. I think it was a nightly routine."

"So she's been running herself ragged—exhaustion it is," Siroc summarized concisely.

D'Artagnan visibly relaxed. "So Jacqueline just needs to rest up, and she'll be back on her feet in no time. Right?" He looked up at his friend for confirmation.

The doctor did not look relieved yet. "Her body will heal, yes, if she rests and eats—that's important—but what worries me is why she did this to herself." He gazed at the musketeer stretched out on the table in quiet slumber. "We must ask what drove her to push herself past the limit."

* * *

Lauren left Jacqueline's room that evening. The girl had volunteered for first nursing duty, waiting for the worn musketeer to wake so she could feed her broth. D'Artagnan had relieved her for the first half of the night, but a few hours sitting and staring out the window left Lauren antsy, far from sleepy.

Wandering through the halls, her feet took her where her head never would have allowed her to go. Standing before a thick wooden door, the girl knocked twice and waited. A muffled "Hold on!" came from the other side, and she nervously stoked the raised line on her palm, the slowly healing rapier cut. The door opened revealing Gil clad in his shirt and breeches. He looked surprised at his twilight visitor and half hid himself behind the door. "Bonsoir, Lauren. I thought you were busy with Jacques."

"I was, but it is d'Artagnan's turn right now. Are you busy?" She peered past his shoulder into his room. The musketeer's chamber was almost as bare as hers, but Gil did have a much larger bed and a full wardrobe instead of a small shelf. A single candle flickered on the bedside table, and Lauren could see a book lying on the bed. "I thought we could go somewhere."

Gil turned and glanced out his window. The sky was a darkening grey blue; an early fall sunset had already stolen the light. "Now?" he asked a little incredulously. Lauren thought she saw his eyes linger a moment on the open book.

"I promise I'll have you home before midnight," she told him sweetly, batting her eyes for extra effect. "Please? I'm so bored, stuck in this stuffy garrison all day."

"Let me get my jacket; come on in," he told her, leaving the door to find boots and coat. Lauren stepped in, curiously pacing the room and wondering why it was so clean, considering that a young man inhabited it. "You sure Siroc doesn't mind?" he asked a little defensively over his shoulder as he tugged on a second boot. As an afterthought, he grabbed his baldric and slid it over his shoulder.

"He won't mind—he's a little preoccupied, I think," Lauren answered with a grin. Gil smiled back.

"Shall we?" he asked. The boy ushered Lauren out the door and shut it behind them. The sudden breeze blew the candle out.


	9. Climbing and Truth

**Climbing**

Lauren's back hit the wall hard almost knocking the breath out of her. This was not the time for hard breathing, however, and the girl strove to control hers. She could feel the rough stone surface right through her musketeer jacket and mentally cursed the thinness of the uniform. Shaking all distracting thoughts from her head, she peered around the corner slowly so that no one would take notice. Luckily, she saw no one in the room. Only a few yards away was the door out of the garrison. Satisfied that it was safe to go for it, Lauren turned to her companion. "Ready to run for your life?" she asked with a small grin, her fingers deftly sliding into his grasp. A nod in reply was all the encouragement she needed. The pair dashed for the door, yanking it open and charging through like the devil himself was after them. _If the devil's name was Duval,_ Lauren thought wickedly.

When they were free in the evening streets of Paris, the girl relinquished the lead to Gil who had promised to show her something special tonight. She gladly ran behind him, her hand still clasped in his. The few people they passed in the street looked at them either disapprovingly or with knowing smiles—_ah, the sight of young love._ After many twists and turns, Gil slowed and released her hand as the approached a high stone wall; he followed it off to the right, seeming to look for a certain spot. When he halted, Lauren could only gaze up at the fifteen feet of solid rock before her, already guessing what the plan was.

"Can you climb?" the young Musketeer asked, already taking off his coat. He glanced at her when she did not give an affirmative reply. "I'm sorry, I just assumed—" he said looking between her and the wall embarrassedly.

"No, I can," Lauren told him hurriedly, swallowing hard. _Well, I could with a harness and a spotter_, her brain wanted to say, _but hey, this is only a dream, right?_ She slid off her jacket and watched Gil begin to ascend, taking note of each hand and foothold he used. Wiping sweaty palms on her pants, she found her first grip and followed. Lauren had climbed the tower at camp a few times over the summer on her time off from counselor duties and had even gone to the walls with her climbing enthusiast friend, Katheryne, but nothing compared to hanging by your nails on a sheer stone wall. Lauren's arms shook as she reached for each next hold, the girl praying silently to reach the top.

Keeping focused on putting one hand in front of the other, she went up without any close calls, although she felt rock crumbling under her toes more than once. Gil gave her a hand on the last two feet from his perch straddling the wall. Only when sitting in relative safety at the top could Lauren learn where they were. With a small gasp at the sight on the other side of the wall, Lauren looked to Gil with amazement. A beautiful garden spread out below them with gravel paths between trimmed hedges, flower beds, rose bushes, and tall trees that swayed in the autumn breeze. A few fountains bubbled for their ears only; the garden was empty and quiet.

"How—? Whose—?" Lauren began, but Gil broke in to answer.

"Knowing d'Artagnan has surprising perks; he told me how to get here—Queen Anne's private garden. And it seems that the Queen is visiting cousins in the country tonight, so we get to borrow some royal luxury this evening. How about it?" he said, eyes glowing.

Lauren nodded without hesitation. "Of course, it's like a piece of Versailles in the city!" she replied enthusiastically. Without waiting for an invitation, she slid her legs over to climb down the wall. The first two steps down were fine, but her third foothold gave out from under her, and the girl slid ten feet down the wall, landing hard on her back in the manicured grass below.

Gil cursed, climbing down the wall with the ease of a chimpanzee and jumping the last five feet. He, however, managed to land on his feet and came running over to kneel beside Lauren. "God! Are you hurt?" he asked, his eyes searching her body for bones sticking out of place and his hand going to her cheek in sympathy. Lauren looked up at his worry stricken features and began to giggle hysterically. Laughter bubbled up to her lips and filled the garden with its ringing sound. When Gil realized that she was in fact all right, he joined in without knowing why and sat down in the grass beside her.

The fit subsided eventually, leaving Lauren's middle with a welcome soreness. She sat up slowly, her stomach muscles protesting the movement. "God, I'm clumsy. Bet that was some sight to see," she said, not really talking to anyone but herself.

Gil heard and replied, "Oh yes, it was so very graceful. What a fall for a man's eyes to behold." His eyes shone as he looked sideways at her. Lauren let out a few small chuckles, all that her body could handle at the moment.

"I'll be feeling it tomorrow, no matter how graceful it seemed," she told him. "Thanks for that adventure, dear Gilbert. Do you have any other death-defying stunts planned for tonight that I should know about?" she asked, half sarcastic, half serious.

The boy smiled. "Nothing I promise you haven't done before." He stood, reaching a hand down to help her up. "Shall we?" Lauren took his hand, planning to go wherever it should take her.

* * *

Jacqueline thrashed in her bed, kicking the blankets off and punching the air violently. Without warning, she rolled out of bed, sitting up in shock and breathing harder than she did after a morning workout. Loose hair in her face, her wide eyes searched the room desperately, looking for a Cardinal's Guard hiding and waiting to run her through. The year old wound in her side burned with an unexpected new fierceness at the thought. Suddenly the door from the hallway swung open and Jacqueline jumped over the bed to grab her rapier, about to pull it from its sheath when she caught sight of the intruder's face.

D'Artagnan carrying a tray of food entered the room, using a foot to shut the door behind him. "Good to see you out of bed. We were beginning to wonder…" he said cheerfully, but trailing off in the end. He set the tray on the bedside table and then straightened to face the female musketeer. "Are you all right, Jacqueline?" His brow furrowed in concern.

Jacqueline released her fear and her grip on the sword hilt and faced him. "I'm perfectly well, thank you, just hungry and confused." Her own forehead creased as she tried to recall what brought her to her room.

"That's what I like to hear," d'Artagnan broke into her thoughts robustly. "Dinner is served." He motioned for the woman to come around the bed and eat. She did so obediently, sitting on the edge of her bed and picking up the bowl of soup, sipping it scalding hot without bothering with a spoon. She really was famished.

"Only broth?" she asked between gulps; she reached over for her crust of bread and started tearing at that as well. D'Artagnan watched her eat with a mixture of relief and amusement.

"The resident doctor ordered it, at least until you felt up to eating meals again," he said delicately. It was not subtle enough, however, and the female musketeer looked up sharply.

She set the empty bowl aside and met d'Artagnan's eyes. "What exactly is going on?" she demanded as much as asked. "The last I remember, I was angry at you for something, and then I woke up here."

The legend's son sunk into the chair as he began, "Well, it all starts when this recruit showed up…"

* * *

**Truth**

Jacqueline was staring into the space over d'Artagnan's shoulder. Sitting on the edge of her bed, she had just learned that she had passed out in the middle of a duel. Now her dearest friend waited for her to speak, wanting to know why. Why she had been requesting extra assignments, practicing alone in the night, refusing to eat, and why he had not known about any of it? And now she had to tell him. "Don't laugh," she began hesitantly. She gave him a hard look.

"I wouldn't dream of it," he replied as gravely as he could muster.

"I keep having this nightmare—and before you say it is just a dream, hear me out." She took a deep breath, her throat already tightening. "It starts with me crawling to Gerard, right before he—he dies, but after, I look up and Mazarin is standing over me. He doesn't say anything, just grins and runs me through." The female musketeer looked down at the folded hands in her lap.

D'Artagnan looked at a loss for words. Jacqueline was not the type to be spooked by silly dreams. "Jacqueline—" he began uncertainly.

"It's not the dream so much as the message," she continued as though she had never paused. "Think about it, d'Artagnan, it has been over a year since Gerard's death—did the Guard just give up on bringing justice to their man? Why haven't we had any incidents lately? Why no café fights or scuffles over women? It's because the guard hasn't been out; they're planning something."

The legend's son shook his head at her earnestness, "You give them far too much credit by assuming they can think. Besides, they found you and Lauren in the woods; gave her a nasty gift as I recall."

"Yes, but I had to kill one of those men. Why didn't they retaliate?" Jacqueline pressed. Now that she had been forced to speak out, the words kept coming. "They knew we were musketeers, we were in uniform and all. Why has a Guard not even dared to insult us in public since then? Something is happening, but I can't figure it out."

D'Artagnan only replied gently, "That may be true, but it's no reason to drive yourself to exhaustion." The concern in his eyes was infuriating; the man was treating her like a child scared of a monster under her bed!

She met his eyes again forcefully. "You don't understand; I remember when I locked blades with that new recruit, and something in me clicked into place. He has something to do with all this."

And now the Musketeer just looked worried. "Okay, Jacqueline, why don't you rest for awhile? You hit your head pretty badly when you fell, and you might feel better if you just—"

"You don't believe me, do you?" she broke in, accusing him.

D'Artagnan did not answer right away. He stood and picked up the empty tray, striding to the door. There he paused and murmured, "I'll bring you breakfast in the morning. Captain gave you a few days off. Good night." And he left.

After a moment of disbelief, Jacqueline blew out the candles on her nightstand and lay back carefully. Was it all a conspiracy in her head? Or was something really going on?

* * *

The cool autumn breeze rustled through the small walled garden. The treetops shivered with a particularly strong gust, and Lauren did the same. She regretted leaving her jacket on the other side of the wall, no matter how thin it was, and then glanced sideways at unflinching Gil, solid and strong looking as anyone she had ever known. Back home, she bet he would be one of the 'popular' crowd. _Maybe even a football or basketball star with his muscles and height_, she mused, _but not someone who would search out me._

With the feeling of unworthiness, the girl flitted from his side and approached the small fountain. It had three basins stacked above each other, the bottom as high as Lauren's waist and about four feet across, the smaller top one spurting out the water with a soothing bubbling sound. Lauren reached out a hand, letting the waterfall rush over her hand, over the raised cut across her palm. The musketeer followed so silently that the girl almost jumped when he whispered in her ear. "Does it bother you?" he asked, the warmth of his breath brushing her chilled cheek.

Lauren withdrew her hand from the fountain, letting it fall uselessly to her side, and turned her head slightly, looking up at his face. "No, I have other scars. It'll be a good story to tell my children." She mocked a stern face and admonished the fountain as though it were a child, shaking an angry finger as she said, "Don't play with sharp pointy swords. See what happened to your Mommy when she got too close?"

Gil let out a low chuckle. "Good to know, but I actually meant does it bother you that I'm crazy about you?" He snaked his arms around her waist pulling her back against his chest. The boy buried his chin in her hair, gazing at the fountain over her head.

Sucking in a breath, Lauren tensed for a moment. _Do people talk like this, really? I thought that line was just for romantic comedies,_ she thought cynically. But something inside made her relax into the embrace. _Maybe he means it. He meant that kiss…_ a little voice inside her head told her. Lauren's face heated a little at the memory of the Rhapsody Night kiss.

Gil must have taken her silence as a maybe because he backed off a bit. He took her scarred hand, purposely holding it firmly, and led her to a gazebo like structure. Roses grew up the sides and gave the air a hint of perfume. Lauren sat down easily beside Gil and met his eyes with a small smile of pleasure on her face. The musketeer grinned back, taking both her hands in his. "Lauren, I told you my life story on Rhapsody Night, but I hardly know anything about you," he began, a hopeful hint in his tone.

The girl's heart jumped. _He wants details. Do I tell him the truth and watch him run away or do I make up a life set in France?_ She quickly decided to tell him the half-truth—the part of the truth that did not relate to her fall and life in the twenty-first century. "Well," she started nervously, "I am sevente—wait." Lauren stopped short as another cool breeze reminded her of the season. _How long have I been here? Two, three weeks?_ "Actually, my eighteenth birthday just passed."

"Your birthday," he repeated. "We must celebrate it properly tomorrow night." His lighthearted manner returned, and he dropped to one knee on the ground before her. "Will you accept another dinner at the Café Nouveau with me?" he asked, mock serious.

Lauren giggled at his ridiculous proposal and nodded her agreement. "How could I refuse such an offer?" she said with a fake sigh.

But Gil frowned in reply and turned away. The girl's face fell, and she hastened to say, "I wasn't making fun of you…" The musketeer put an urgent finger to his lips, and Lauren took the hint, straining her ears to hear what had bothered him.

Low voices carried across the garden. Gil tugged Lauren's arm, pulling her down to her knees to take cover behind the bench. Crouching as low as he could, the young musketeer tiptoed out of the gazebo and along the path, hiding behind the high hedges. With a momentary hesitation, the girl followed, taking care to step silently and keep her head down.

Gil had stopped at a place where the hedge was thin enough to see through. He looked a little surprised to see that Lauren had followed him, but he did not dare speak. The girl looked through the hedge and saw the source of the voices ambling along the path parallel to them, a uniformed musketeer talking to an older gentleman in red, a Cardinal's vestments if she was not mistaken. The men paused right in front of their hiding spot.

She glanced sideways at her companion; he looked disturbed by the scene, and Lauren strained to figure out why. She studied the figures more closely, taking in the combed back black hair, hazel eyes, and broad shoulders of the grey one—_It's the new recruit!_ Now her attentions turned to the Cardinal; Lauren could just make out his words. "…Leponte defeated? Now this is good news. Your sword arm is well worth the price."

The man shifted so that his back was turned towards the hidden pair. "Actually, Your Eminence, I cannot take credit for the win because the man fell of his own accord."

The man in red was a little stunned at this revelation. Recovering quickly, he suggested, "The evening grows cold. Why don't we continue this discussion in my office…"

After the two men had reentered the palace, Gil motioned for Lauren to head for the wall. Neither dared speak until they had climbed back up and over without incident. The girl found her crumpled jacket nearby and tugged it back on. "What was that about?"

"I'm not sure," he said, already walking back towards the garrison," but I need to tell Uncle that our recruit is an agent of the Cardinal."


	10. Men and Wine

**Men**

Lauren stepped out of Siroc's lab, heading for her usual morning jaunt to the kitchens. She stretched her arms up over her head and yawned. Gil and she had been out rather late, probably arriving back only just before midnight. Lucky for her, Siroc and Ramon had been out on some investigation for the Captain and d'Artagnan was tied up with Jacqueline. If any of the girl's guardians had seen her late return, she might have been in a great deal of trouble.

She started walking through the halls as a new notion occurred to her. _How did Gil tell Duval about the Cardinal and recruit's meeting without divulging where and why he overheard it?_ She was pondering this line of thought with a small grin on her face when a voice called out, "So it's true." Lauren's heart jumped, and she paused, glancing around confusedly until she saw a shadow in the crossing corridor up ahead.

Stepping forward slowly, she asked a little too loudly, "What's true?"

"There is a little girl living in the garrison that dresses outrageously." Lauren could now make out the voice and some of the perfect features of the handsome new recruit.

"I'm hardly small or scandalous," she said airily, striding confidently past the hall without stopping to introduce herself. She did not feel like making friends with a spy today, especially one that had caused Gil so much alarm.

The recruit was overly friendly today. He reached out and took her arm firmly, drawing her back into the door- and windowless hall. "Now where do you think you're going? It's very lonely to be new here, didn't you know?" He was very close to pinning her against the wall. Lauren could smell his hot breath.

"I'm sorry, but I don't provide anything for lonely Musketeers." She said coldly, her feelings flashing from fear to anger. She slid out under his arm and stepped briskly back into the hall, trying to find a witness or at least put plenty of distance between them if it cam to running.

The man called after her, "You're making a great mistake—do you know who I am?"

Lauren whirled to address him from ten feet away. "You made it quite clear who you are: a filthy, disgusting, repulsive scoundrel." A touch on her shoulder made her jump in fright, spinning to meet the new intruder.

"Pardon me, mademoiselle," Gil said, eying the man before them a little too roughly. "Is he bothering you?"

"I'm fine, we were just having a discussion," she brushed off Gil's touch, not wanting to be near anything male at the moment. The feelings of anger, shame, and fear made her hands shake, and she just wanted to get away from everyone.

The handsome man dared to speak again in a sickly sweet tone. "Oh, I see now. Monsieur, you would do well to keep a better watch on your whore."

Though Lauren was a bit shocked, she could brush off the name calling and just walk away. Gil apparently could not do the same. "Sir, you have impugned her honor. In her place, I demand satisfaction."

Lauren turned on him sharply. "Stop it, Gil. Violence solves nothing."

"No, I can't let him get away with this," he said, staring down the recruit. "He needs to learn a lesson."

Nodding his head, the Cardinal's spy accepted. "I'll send my second to meet with yours to agree on terms."

"No, you won't. This is not happening—" the girl told the recruit. Whirling back around, she pleaded, "Leave it alone Gil. Sticks and stones may break my bones, but names will never hurt me." This situation was spinning way out of control, and she could not have someone getting hurt over something as silly as her reputation, especially a dream reputation. But all was for naught. Both men went their separate ways, and Lauren was left alone in the middle of the hall with a feeling of dread in her stomach.

* * *

Jacqueline knocked on the door to Lauren's room. When a weak 'yes' came from inside, she opened the door to find Lauren lying on her side in bed with a pillow over her head. The female musketeer cleared her throat and said, "Gil told d'Artagnan who told me what happened. I know I'm just recovering from a head injury, but do you want to talk about it?" Her tone was laced with a little bitterness, but she shook it off. Now was the time to help the girl.

Lauren sat up and let the pillow fall to the floor. She sighed and rubbed her face with both hands. Jacqueline took this as a good sign, and she closed the door and sat down beside the girl on the bed. "So tell me, how are you feeling?"

"Honestly?" Lauren asked, meeting the woman's eyes. "I'm confused—mostly about Gil. Sometimes I think it's nice to have him around, like I just want someone to hold my hand or shoulder to rest my head on. But then, like this morning, I start telling myself that I'm being an idiot fawning over irrational men, and I want to revert to a radical be-alone-forever strategy. Maybe I should just become a nun and get away from stupid boys forever."

Jacqueline gave a small smile; so many times she had thought much of the same. "I know what you mean, but I don't think a nun's life is for those who just want to escape men."

"I figured as much," the girl answered with another sigh, leaning back against the wall. She looked out the window at the grey autumn sky. "For so long I scoffed at other girls' foolish obsessing over men, and now I find myself doing the same—I'm such a hypocrite."

Jacqueline leaned forward and turned to make her appeal. "Why don't you let Gil take you out tonight?"

Lauren's eyebrows shot up about a mile. "You want me to go on a date after all this? With him? The Jacques who pouted whenever Gil came near now wants me to spend time with him?"

The female musketeer broke out a grin. "Ah, but if he's out with you, he's not here to bother me." Jacqueline now stood, stretching sore muscles a little on the way up. "You need to get away from all these rough soldiers and have some fun with the boy who adores you… Both you and I know that there are some men out there who know how to take good care of women."

"I guess," the girl sighed in reply, remembering that she had already agreed to go out with him the night before in the garden. She stood as well, straightening her musketeer outfit and stepping over to the door. Before she slipped out, she met Jacqueline's eyes and wickedly added, "And I think you should take your own advice and go out with d'Artagnan tonight."

The comment caught the musketeer off guard, and she could not think of a response until Lauren had already left. Shaking her head and exiting the room as well, she muttered, "I wish… If only he didn't think I was crazy…"

* * *

**Wine**

Lauren let Gil open the door for her and pull out her chair at the bustling evening Café Nouveau. He took a seat across from her at their small table against the wall. For a few moments, the girl just enjoyed this instant in time—watching the people move about the great room, gaping at the belly dancers out tonight, appreciating the music from the group in the corner, listening to French chatter, and admiring the colors and styles of the seventeenth century clothing.

The waitress came and went; Lauren allowed Gil to order since there were no menus. _Actually, I just don't care—I'll try anything tonight. It's high time to let loose and live._ For some reason she did not pause to remind herself that it was all a dream. A barmaid swept by to leave two goblets and a bottle of wine on the table. Gil poured for the both of them, Lauren looking at the rich red liquid dubiously. A dark drop slid down the side of her glass, reminding her of blood. "You don't have to fight him, you know," the girl burst out. The pair had not dared speak of that morning's incident to each other, but the wall had to come down if she were to enjoy herself tonight.

Gil met her eyes, his hazel reflecting the flickering candle flame on the table. Lauren could not speak when he captured her with his gaze, so she waited speechless and breathless. The boy's hand went to the inside pocket of his Musketeer vest as he said, "I have something for you." Pulling out a handkerchief, he unwrapped it to reveal a sleek midnight blue drawstring bag, handing it to Lauren. "Happy birthday." She took it gingerly, letting her fingers savor the rich feel of silk. "Open it," Gil urged softly, breaking into her thoughts.

The girl obliged him, opening the laces to reveal a small hand mirror, framed with gold and about the size of a makeup compact. She turned it over to see the jewels pressed into the back: a diamond in the center surrounded by rings of aquamarine, blue topaz, and sapphires, darkening with each successive ring outwards. Lauren looked up, open mouthed. "I can't accept this—its way too much!" She put her palm out, returning the generous gift immediately.

Gil shook his head; he reached out, using his own fingers to close hers around the mirror. "You want so little; I just want to give you something special. Keep it. It's an old family heirloom" The musketeer gently pushed her hand back.

Lauren opened her fingers, looking at the beautiful piece again. Without another thought, she reached for the wine glass, taking a long drink. _What can I do?_ And the answer came to her instantly—she leaned over the table and gave Gil a wine flavored kiss.

The musketeer accepted her thanks and generously showed so her with his own. But the couple had to break apart quickly when a woman arrived with their food, sliding the plates in front of them and leaving with a small smile. Lauren's face reddened and she looked down at her plate, thinking, _And I always thought Public Displays of Affection were disgusting…_ Her blush deepened, and she picked at her food.

* * *

Siroc looked up when the young pair entered his lab. Gil guided Lauren though the door with his hands supporting her at the waist. D'Artagnan also turned sideways on the bench where he was sitting; his shirt was off so that the resident doctor could tend to a scrape on his upper arm. Gil noticed immediately, asking, "What happened?" In this brief moment of distraction, Lauren escaped his hold and stumbled forward.

D'Artagnan's exhaled sharply as he explained, "That new recruit is a little overzealous in the practice courts." Gil's jaw tightened, but he did not reply.

Meanwhile, Lauren had danced her way over to d'Artagnan. She plopped down on his lap and curiously examined the cut on his arm. The wounded musketeer pushed her off gently with amazement plain on his face as he looked to Gil. Siroc turned directly to interrogate Gil. "What did you do to her?"

Gil looked slightly exasperated. "I don't know; she had a few glasses of wine and ended up like this—it's like she never drank before."

Lauren announced in a slurred, sing-song voice, "I don't drink, it's bad. I'm not old enough. I'm only eighteen!" She laughed as d'Artagnan held her upright in front of him.

"I think you need some sleep," the legend's son told her, looking pointedly at the dazed Gil who had yet to move from the doorway. The young musketeer got the hint, the glance spurring him into action. He came over to take Lauren's arm to help her walk, but the tipsy girl planted her feet, not wanting to go. Gil bent slightly and swept her off her feet, carrying her to her room. The boy gently laid her down, pulling off her boots and tucking her in under the blankets. Siroc stood ever watchful, blocking the light from entering the small room with his body in the doorway, but he looked away when Gil leaned down to give the girl a goodnight kiss.


	11. Fools and Visit

**Fools**

Lauren woke up late, the sun streaming through her dusty window and hitting her right in the face. She rolled over to escape the blinding light, bringing a hand up to her head which felt stuffed with cotton. A few disjointed memories of music, wine, and laughter came flashing through her mind, along with a nighttime stroll back to the garrison where Lauren had dragged Gil into every shadow to steal a kiss. "Wine can make a fool of anyone…" she muttered to herself. Something itched at the back of her mind, something she should know. _Kissing… fools… Gil…_ Then it came to her, and she sat up straight in her bed. "The duel!" she cried aloud to no one. She leapt out of bed to her window, not sure what she was hoping to see.

The courtyard below held a number of familiar figures; Ramon, Siroc, and d'Artagnan stood along one side watching Gil step forward to meet the handsome recruit who had a man behind him as well. The two drew their rapiers and saluted each other. Lauren's breath caught in her throat. She wanted to scream for them to stop this foolishness—there was no need for fighting. _Let alone fighting over me, for godsakes!_ But she was frozen in place, her eyes transfixed on the clashing blades she could not hear.

After only a few hits, the girl saw the recruit go in for the kill; Gil was no match for the bigger, stronger, and older man. She saw her friend fall sideways and took off running through the garrison with only one thought in her mind, _Go to him!_ The next moment she was shoving her way between d'Artagnan and Ramon, skidding to a halt at the fallen boy's side. She fell to her knees, and now she could see the blood staining his side. Her only reaction was a whispered "Oh my God!" _What have I done?_

Then the unthinkable happened—Gil opened his eyes. "Lauren?" he asked a little bewildered. "You shouldn't be here."

Blinking back emotion, she stared at him. "Gil, I thought you were…" The girl could not bring herself to say it aloud.

The young musketeer looked up at her with a small smile that turned into a wince. "The duel was first blood drawn," he patiently explained. His face fell, however, when he added, "I'm sorry I failed you."

Lauren almost laughed at the ridiculousness of his statement. "Forget my stupid reputation—you're bleeding!" she exclaimed, amazed that he was so concerned over her when he was the one with a gash in his side.

Siroc laid a hand on her shoulder, and Lauren looked up at him. The inventor told her, "I need to get him to my lab to patch him up now." She nodded her acknowledgement and let them carry Gil out. With them gone, she retreated to the barn to compose herself and pay a long overdue visit to Bud. After all, her head still hurt and she did not want to face anyone right then if she could help it. Bud was lying down in his stall with his nose resting in the straw, enjoying a midmorning nap. Lauren smiled at her little gelding and yawned. A nap did not seem like such a bad idea…

* * *

Something was beeping. Yes, Lauren was sure that she heard a good, old-fashioned heart monitor beep. Her eyes fluttered open, but everything was just a blur. She could see the white ceiling tiles floating over her head and catch a glimpse of looming medical equipment out of the corner of her eye.

_So I am in a hospital…_ she mused. Strangely, she could not feel anything, like her body had been disconnected from her head. _It must be the drugs,_ she thought. Right then a wave of weariness washed over her mind, and she fell back asleep.

* * *

Lauren woke with a start, feeling itchy all over with straw. _That means that I'm still in France,_ she thought with a sigh. She stood and stretched out the kinks that come with sleeping on a barn floor and glanced around. The stable was dark, illuminated by a single flame contained by a brazier suspended high in the air, hung from the ceiling. Bud stepped over to sniff her hand and lick her scarred palm. "We're not home yet, pony," she told him. Wiping the horse slime off on her breeches, she went in search of Gil.

Her feet took her directly to the workshop where the inventor himself was straddling a bench and flipping through the pages of his notebook. For once, he noticed her the moment she walked in. "And just where have you been?" he inquired.

"Sleeping off a headache in the barn, of course," she replied sweetly. Glancing around, she noticed the absence of someone. "Is he—?" she began hesitantly; Gil _had_ lost a lot of blood…

Siroc smiled kindly at her. "Gil is recovering at his family's townhouse in Paris. The Captain figured that his sister would know how to punish her son for dueling much better than he could."

"Oh." The girl winced. It was, after all, her fault that he dueled in the first place. "Can I go see him?" she asked tentatively.

"His family is noble," the man told her, meeting her with an even gaze. "They would turn you away dressed like a man."

"Oh," Lauren said again. She swallowed hard and spoke in a very quiet voice, "Do you know where I could get a dress?"

Siroc looked over the rim of his spectacles, a small grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. "You'll have it tomorrow."

* * *

**Visit**

_Why did I do this?_ she asked herself for the millionth time that morning. _I could have just waited until he came back to the garrison, but no!—not me! I have to go and be a sappy lovesick little girl and go visit him on his sickbed!_ Lauren twitched her skirts nervously at her side and glanced sideways at her escort, the inventor, as they strolled the streets of Paris arm in arm. Siroc had found her a dress by morning, alright—a tight, frilly, low-cut excuse for a dress. A shimmering aquamarine, it matched the exact color of her eyes, a fact that had made her eyebrows shoot up suspiciously when the man had presented it to her. The sleeves were hilariously large and puffy at the shoulders, and the front exposed much more than Lauren was used to. Sure, Siroc had managed to look innocent, but she suspected that he had been planning on introducing this ridiculous female clothing to her for awhile now.

Then it had taken Jacqueline about half an hour to get Lauren in the cursed clothing, having to patiently explain just why there were so many layers of undergarments and how a corset really helped anything. The actual dress slid easily on over it all, strangely the perfect size. Well, except for the fact that the corset severely limited her lung capacity. After that mess, Lauren blatantly refused to let the woman touch her hair and left it naturally long and straight to just below her shoulders.

The blasted female musketeer then decided to present the poor tortured girl to Siroc and d'Artagnan. Immediately, the latter musketeer nobly offered to take her to Gil's house, but Jacqueline shoved him back into his seat muttering, "She'll really have a reputation to worry about if she's seen walking with you." In the end, of course, Siroc got the job.

"You okay?" asked the tall blonde man striding down the boulevard beside her. He looked down at Lauren with a hint of concern—she attributed it to the fact that this parade was probably as awkward for him as it was for her.

"I'm lovely, thanks for asking," she replied breathlessly, though not because she was excited, but because she literally had no breath to spare between the corset and the brisk pace. He led her to the door of a grey stone building, simply built but still elegant looking. Rusticated stone on the lower story gave way to smoother brick up higher, crowned with a heavy ornate cornice on the roof. Siroc rang at the door, and the pair waited for an answer. Lauren fidgeted anxiously. _This was a bad idea…_

A maid came to the door, an older lady with wisps of white hair escaping from her bonnet. Shooting a suspicious look directly at Lauren, she smoothed the front of her apron as she asked, "Who is calling?"

Luckily Siroc replied, "Mademoiselle Lauren du Cantre here to see Gilbert de Chantal, Madame." He gave a small bow of respect to the older woman.

The maid peered at Lauren with squinted eyes, as if trying to study the girl's face for her intentions. Finally she said, "Very well then, follow me." She stepped back and pulled the door open wider.

Lauren looked uncertainly at the musketeer. He nodded and murmured, "I'll wait out here for you." With that, the girl stepped alone onto the polished marble floor of the atrium. Closing the door, the old woman strode off down the blue painted corridor, Lauren only a step behind. They halted at a pair of double doors, and the maid instructed her to wait a moment. She slipped inside and shut the door behind her. Lauren wiped sweaty palms on the front of her bodice, trying to compose herself for whatever would come next.

Only about two minutes passed before the door reopened and the maid ushered the girl into the parlor and closed the door with a small click. Gil rose stiffly from the couch he had been reclining on, setting a leather-bound book on the table beside him. _Hmm… brains and brawn—I've caught a good one_, she mused silently. Lauren could not stand the silence as they gazed at each other from across the room. "Am I supposed to curtsey or something?" she asked.

Gil let out a short laugh. "Sorry. No, you don't have to do anything… My God, Lauren, you're a vision," he told her with a warm smile.

"More like a mirage," she countered dryly. "And hey—for being stuck like a pig yesterday, you look pretty hot yourself." And he was rather well dressed in a dashing seventeenth-century outfit—the dark green suited his eyes quite well, although Lauren could have done without the funny looking buckle shoes.

Gil frowned. "I look hot?"

Lauren's face split into a wide grin. "Never mind," she replied, stifling laughter. She finally decided to glide over to join him by the couch. She sat as gracefully as she could, trying to mimic a court lady and swishing her skirts with every chance she got.

"You're lucky my mother is out right now," Gil told her as he slowly sank down onto the settee beside her, "or we would have a chaperone." He leaned in and gave her a soft kiss. Lauren returned it and met his smile with her own, not wanting to spoil the moment with useless words.

But Gil went all serious on her. Leaning back with a hand to his healing side, he met her eyes straightforwardly. "What changed your mind about the dress? D'Artagnan did warn me about you, you know. You did say some strange things that I wondered about…"

Swallowing hard, Lauren looked at the hands in her lap. "He told you everything?" A glance upward at the boy's face gave her an affirmative. _He knows I'm crazy and still puts up with me? Either he's taking advantage or he _really_ likes me. _Heavy thoughts weighed on her mind, so Lauren gave him a light-hearted answer. "Well, I recently realized that I won't be stuck here forever, so I might as well make good use of my time." She leaned over him to pick up the book he had set on the side table, pausing a second to give him a quick kiss before setting herself upright again. "Now let's see what you've been up to on your leave." Lauren opened the cover and flipped to the title page and read aloud, "The life of Benvenuto Cellini, the son of Giovanni Cellini, written by Himself in Florence." A small gasp of wonder escaped her lips. "You have got to be joking."

"What is the jest?" Gil asked. "I am interested in the life of the artist and the world he lived in," he said a little defensively, reaching for the book. "Just because I'm a soldier doesn't mean I can't be cultured."

Lauren hugged the volume to her chest. "No, I was just surprised. _I_ just read this book before I—um, fell into France." She met his quizzical eyes. "I've made a study of art history for my own amusement, and I took a Grand Tour of Europe last summer with a week's stay in Florence. On the Ponte Vecchio, there was a bronze bust of Cellini and this Swiss man explained his story to me and recommended I read his autobiography. It's an amazing story…" The girl trailed off as Gil leaned down to kiss her. "What was that for?" she whispered only inches from his lips.

"For being the most surprising woman I've ever met," he told her.


	12. Trouble and Out

**Trouble**

Lauren left Gil's delightful company after only an hour. After seeing the rich décor and meeting the suspicious maid, she did not fancy meeting up with Gil's parents. _I'm sure they wouldn't approve of a crazy like me_, she reasoned. _It's for Gil's own good_. These thoughts and more were tumbling through her head as she walked back to the garrison beside Siroc. The man was being even quieter than usual, giving Lauren more opportunity to wallow in her thoughts. _Stop getting so attached—so he likes art and history, but so do a lot of nice American boys living in 2006. For godsakes, he _is_ history! It's not like he's real…_ She repeated the last over and over in her mind until she reached the garrison, but for some reason, the butterflies in her stomach still did not believe her.

Jacqueline, Ramon, and d'Artagnan were waiting for them as they entered the lab; the woman was leaning against a counter while the other two sat across from each other at the large wooden worktable. Siroc looked at the gathering and wondered aloud, "Did someone neglect to tell me about a party?"

"Duval has an assignment for us," the female musketeer replied eagerly, a glint in her eye that Lauren had never seen before. There was anticipation and triumph present with a hint of unease hidden between.

"Apparently the Captain found out that the new recruit is a spy for the Cardinal," d'Artagnan said sheepishly, avoiding Jacqueline's victorious smile. Lauren blushed a little as she remembered the other night with Gil in the garden, and she retreated to her room to leave musketeer business to the musketeers. But the girl did decide to leave the door open, just in case something interesting came up.

"We need to figure out a way to either use him or get rid of him," the Spaniard broke in between bites of a cheese Lauren could smell all the way in her corner.

D'Artagnan finished their explanation with, "And since you are the brain of the bunch…"

* * *

A few days later, a small number of musketeers and a young woman lingered outside the garrison to watch a horse and rider approach. Drawing the gelding to a halt, Gil swung down from the saddle smoothly, but Lauren detected a hint of a wince on his face as his feet connected hard with the ground. She put on her best smile for the musketeer, freshly back from sick leave, and stepped forward to meet him, the skirts of her blue dress swishing around her slippered feet. "So good of you to return from your vacation, Chantal," D'Artagnan drawled sarcastically; he had kindly offered to wait with the girl to welcome his comrade back.

Gil opened his mouth to reply to his friend when a certain grey-clad soldier caught his eye. The handsome recruit saw the gaze as his cue to leave, and the spy turned and ducked into the shadows of the stables. "He's still here," Gil growled, more a statement than a question.

"Quiet," Lauren told him softly, reaching over to take his arm. "I'll explain later…" The girl grinned up at him until a warm smile melted his darkened features, and then she gently dragged him inside. "Be a dear, d'Artagnan, and attend to his horse," she called over her shoulder gaily. The older musketeer smirked and shook his head, but he obliged the crazy girl and grabbed the horse's reins to lead him away.

The young couple made their way to Gil's rooms in a companionable silence. Lauren had not visited him at home but the one time, fearing to meet his mother and make a fool of herself. She had missed him terribly in that short interval. _He distracts me more when he's gone than when he's actually here!_ she thought, irritably twitching her skirts with her free hand.

Ah, the dress. That had been d'Artagnan's subtle suggestion this morning. Normally Lauren would never approve of dressing up just to please someone, but the boy had spilled blood for her—_With the lack of medical technology here, he could have died over that stupid cut!_—and if a silly blue dress could make up for some of that, then she would wear it for as long as he wanted her to. Reaching his room, Gil opened the door and gestured for her to enter in front of him. Lauren paused a moment, her head cocked to the side to honestly say, "It's good to see you."

He beamed down at her and replied, "Thank you. It's good to return to something so beautiful."

She stepped into Gil's room to hide a blush, thinking, _I've really got to stop turning red every time he says something nice._ "Why do you get the big bed and nice furniture and everything?" the girl whined aloud, plopping down at the foot of the bed to pull off the slippers Jacqueline had given her. _These flats are killing my feet!_ she complained in her head.

"Because I'm the one who has to risk his life for France everyday, and I deserve a good night's sleep," the young musketeer teased back, opening his wardrobe and rustling through some of his clothes.

"Humph!" Lauren replied with mock resentment. "Well maybe if all the warriors slept on rock mattresses like mine, they wouldn't have the energy to fight." After a moment of puzzled silence, she burst out laughing at the strangeness of her statement. The girl let herself fall backwards on the bed as she shook with mirth.

Gil looked over his shoulder at her, smiling in amusement. "Lauren, you know what I think?" he asked, coming over to perch on the edge of the bed.

She looked up at him and giggled in reply. "What, O dashing musketeer of mine?" she sighed.

"I think you are positively giddy." The musketeer leaned down to meet her lips with his own, kissing her softly. She happily accepted the gentle reward until one of his hands found its way around her back, and Lauren suddenly remembered herself.

She pulled away, rolling off the bed and standing on the far side. "Gil, I don't think we should—I can't…" the girl was too flustered to finish, and she looked down in embarrassment.

The musketeer crossed the room and put quieting fingers to her lips, ignoring the flinch they caused. "Do not ever be afraid of me, Lauren. I have a duty to protect you, even if it's from myself." Lauren dared to look up at him and saw something in his face she did not expect—_Is he nervous?_ she wondered, watching the corner of his mouth twitch. Gil met her eyes steadily. "I have something I want to ask you, Lauren. I know that we haven't known each other long, but I feel like there is something between us that is so familiar—do you know what I mean?"

The girl's breath caught in her throat. _He can't be about to…_ But all thoughts escaped her as the musketeer lowered himself on one knee before her. "Gil," she began shakily, placing her hands on the man's shoulders, "I think I know what you are going to do—" But Lauren froze at a knock on the door. Duval had forbidden her to be in a musketeer's room, and if he found out… "Should I hide?" she whispered frantically.

Gil placed his had over hers on his shoulder, reassuring the panicked girl. "No, it's probably d'Artagnan." In a louder voice, he called, "I'm busy right now, come back later."

The door opened anyway to admit the Captain. Duval strode in, his face turning red as soon as he caught sight of Lauren. "You?" he roared. "Get out right now!"

* * *

**Out**

Lauren burst into Siroc's lab to the surprise of the four musketeers gathered there. She was wide-eyed and panting from practically being chased down the hall by the insane man with a cane. The Captain entered behind her with Gil only a split second behind his uncle. Wasting no time with niceties, Duval bellowed, "I found her in a musketeer's room without a chaperone. Did you know what she was doing?"

Siroc, with a flicker of a surprised glance in the girl's direction, hastened to interject, "Sir—"

"No, no more excuses," he roared at the inventor that had been so quick to defend Lauren. "Ever since she got here she has been flouting the rules—public indecency, inciting the men into fights, seducing a musketeer…"

Gil now spoke up to protest indignantly, "Uncle, I was not 'seduced!'"

"Too late for an opinion, Gilbert," the Captain replied turning slightly to unleash his fury on his nephew, "you're out of the musketeers. And she…" He pointed to her in anger, and she flinched under his gaze. "She is out—tonight!"

Lauren pleaded from her place in the center of the room between the five soldiers and their captain. "Please, don't blame Gil. It's entirely my fault—don't ruin his future because of me."

Siroc continued to appeal to Duval on the girl's behalf. "Captain, she has nowhere to go. She doesn't know anyone else in the city, and she doesn't understand how to live here. I beg you to reconsider, sir."

The older man's voice became one of hushed anger for his next statement. "Siroc, she was in a musketeer's room for who knows how long—"

"We didn't do anything, I swear. Please!" Lauren turned to the other musketeers, willing them to speak on her behalf. "You know me, tell him that I wouldn't—I couldn't…" _No one believes me!_ she thought hysterically. Tears began to streak down her cheeks as she fell to her knees. "Captain Duval, please! I love him."

Suddenly her heart pulled, like it was being ripped from her chest. She fell forward, catching herself before hitting the ground face first. _Is this what love does to you? What do I know about love? I love my parents, my brother, my dog, Bud…_ Her watering eyes spun wildly about the room, seeing disapproving and worried faces spin before her. Their mouths moved, but the words came slow and warped to her ears.

"…actress," came from Duval. He took her upper arm and pulled Lauren roughly to her feet. She was half-dragged outside to the street and left there to stumble away. She could hear the Captain's final words: "If I see you near the garrison, you will be arrested." Lauren crossed the street, falling again to her knees once she reached the dark alleyway between two shops. From her hiding spot, she saw Gil run from the garrison, looking frantically up and down the road.

At that moment she realized how stupid she had been. _I would have ruined his life. He wanted to marry me—a noble son of seventeenth century France! He would be disgraced by me. He would be cut off from his family and probably from the musketeers too_. And then the last scene flashed through her mind again. _I _did_ ruin his life. Duval kicked him out because of me._ She pulled back farther into the shadows, watching the boy of her thoughts search desperately for her. "Don't worry about me, Gil," she whispered. "I'll make this right."

Gil finally ran down the avenue, out of her sight, and Lauren sighed heavily. She slid down the wall to sit on the ground, getting her dress filthy but not really caring. She stared at the garrison across the street, watching people stroll past it going about their daily lives. She did not move even as dusk began to set in. The windows across the street began to glow with the light of lit fireplaces and candles. The girl recognized the frosted glass of Siroc's workshop and, higher on the wall, Duval's bedroom. The man would follow through on his threat of arrest, she had no doubt, so what was she to do?

Lost in her contemplation, she almost did not see the lone evening walker exiting the garrison. Lauren caught a glimpse of his grey uniform hidden under a long black cloak. The man strode quickly to the corner where a scruffy looking man held a finely groomed and tacked horse, a liver chestnut or dark bay. Now the girl's attention was grabbed and she observed the musketeer as he slipped a coin to the peasant and mounted the steed. He shot a furtive glance back over his shoulder as he turned the corner, and Lauren identified him as the handsome recruit. The Cardinal's spy.

She knew what she had to do.

Rising to her feet, Lauren sent a desperate telepathic message to Bud, the horse standing somewhere in the stables across the road from her. _Please, Pony, come when I need you for once!_ She let out the whistle that she used to call him to the pasture gate at home, a low note that slid into a higher pitch at the end. After only five or six blasts, she heard the sound of trotting hoof beats on cobblestone that caused her to wince—Bud's unshod feet were probably slipping all over the place.

There was no time for regrets now, however, for she had a criminal to catch. Using a crate in the alley as a mounting block, she waited for Bud to find her and come to a halt. She had barely hiked up her skirts and settled down on his bare back before he took off down the road, navigating the empty streets without any direction. Lauren grabbed handfuls of mane and held on for dear life, trying to sit the wild canter. Bud seemed to know just where to go, and Lauren did not dare question it. _This is a dream after all…_

* * *

Siroc rubbed his forehead; today had been out of the ordinary to say the least. Between trying to figure out how to convince Duval to let Lauren come back and planning how to catch the Cardinal's spy in the act, even his mind was stretched to its limit. He looked up as Ramon made his excuses to leave. "I have patrol," the Spaniard explained with none of his usual gusto; all four of the musketeers felt a little shaken by their two problems. As soon as he left, the inventor delicately laid out the idea that had been he had been forming in the back of his mind all day.

"Jacqueline," he began, and the woman looked up at him with steady eyes. Meeting that blue gaze, the inventor knew that she had the same thought. "I think you could go undercover to get the spy's secrets."

"No," burst out d'Artagnan without hesitation. "No way—she can't do that."

Jacqueline drew a sharp breath, about to launch a livid tirade against the man when a voice came from the corner.

"I'll do it," Lauren said flatly.


	13. Strategy and Spying

**Strategy**

"_I'll do it," Lauren said flatly._

Her words echoed in the dim laboratory. The three musketeers looked amazedly at the dirty, disheveled slip of a girl who had magically appeared in the room. "Do what?" d'Artagnan asked, his words sounding strangely loud in everyone's ears.

"No, you won't," said Siroc, his tone final. He looked down at the girl as she stepped forward. She was too young to be risked in a mission; she didn't know how to fight; and she was wrong in the head! It was out of the question to send Lauren into danger.

"Yes," she shot back quickly, "I will. Even if you don't help, I will go to the man and expose him myself—although if you decide to help me, it will be a lot easier." She stared the inventor right in the eye, not backing down.

"You cannot—I forbid it," Siroc announced, but his resolve was already weakening under that blue stare.

"Yes, I can." She surveyed the expressions of the others. Siroc shook his head in firm disbelief while d'Artagnan gaped at her, probably still wondering how she had appeared without his musketeer reflexes noticing. Jacqueline had a hint of—_is it really that?_—approval in her eyes. Lauren continued her argument with a story. "Awhile back I had to help my friend Helen escape from an angry stalker. He sent her threatening messages when she refused to go out with him, and we—a group of her friends—finally had to report him and denounce him before the police." She paused to take a deep breath and meet everyone's gaze. "I won't let someone threaten you if I can help it. This mission is too dangerous for Jacqueline to risk—if he's a Cardinal's man, he surely knows her female face—but I can and will do this."

"Why?" asked d'Artagnan, curiosity apparent in his tone. Why would this crazy girl risk her life for them?

"Because maybe I can redeem myself before the Captain and get Gil his post back," Lauren answered honestly. "And it's the very least I can do for you—for what all of you have done for me."

"Well, we have to come up with a plan before you do anything," Siroc said, a little too quickly, turning to his worktable. He needed time to figure out an alternative plan to keep the girl from any involvement.

Lauren cleared her throat loudly. "I already have one."

"You do?" d'Artagnan asked eagerly, with a hint of surprise at her mission planning skills. He was ready to find this spy and take care of him, the sooner the better, and if Jacqueline was not involved, all's the better.

The girl grinned and began to explain her strategy. "Yes, I followed the spy this evening. He met up with two of those Cardinal men and went to this apartment up some stairs—I'm pretty sure I can find it again. The two reds were up there for about half an hour and then left. I waited for him, but he seems to be staying there for the night. So the idea is that I can go up there to distract him, hopefully weasel some secrets out for you to hear, and then you can charge in and arrest him—easy as pie." She, d'Artagnan, and Jacqueline then looked at Siroc, the last one to hold out. Lauren reached out to take his hand in her two, and the inventor looked down at the clasped palms in wonder. "It's the best plan. Give it a chance," she whispered, giving his hand a tight squeeze.

Siroc surprised everyone when he brought the girls hands up and kissed each gently. He told her, "You can't catch a spy looking like that, Tisoeur." Lauren laughed and the knot in her stomach disappeared. With friends like these, she was bound to succeed.

* * *

Jacqueline and d'Artagnan left the room for a few minutes, bringing a large wooden trunk back with them. The female musketeer pulled a gold chain out from under her shirt and over her head; on it were strung a golden cross and a dark metal key. She unlocked the trunk to reveal a rainbow of dresses folded neatly inside. D'Artagnan's eyebrows shot up. "I thought my 'cousin' didn't want a dress," he teased her.

She gave him one of her classic 'Oh, d'Artagnan' looks before kneeling next to the younger girl to rifle through the garments. "What exactly are you looking for?"

Lauren frowned at the dresses, but continued to dig her way down the stack. "I was going to play the angle of being another spy for Cardinal Mazarin—so secret that I report only to him. I bet he assumes that a young woman in the garrison would be good at discovering delicate secrets."

Jacqueline thought a moment. "Then you need something that could pass as respectable, since the Cardinal would be paying your bills, but also something that looks maybe a little gaudy and cheap. You're obviously not from the highest of society—no offense," she added quickly.

"None taken," the girl answered automatically as she grabbed a dress and pulled it from the bottom of the trunk. "This should do it."

The gown was blue, but a few shades lighter than the dirty one Lauren wore. Under those hideous puffy shoulders, the low cut bodice was fitted and had a pearly white flowered design that covered it. Long white sleeves covered the entire arm and flared at the cuff for a medieval accent. A thin blue sash fastened around the waist with a small glittering diamond clasp to fasten it. Below the waist, the skirt bloomed out satiny blue with a scattering of the flower motif. "It looks like a prom dress," Lauren sighed.

The men looked amused, but the female musketeer made a face when she saw the gown. "That was the first I bought, right from a shop window. I didn't come from the highest of society either, so it'll do."

"No, wait," Lauren replied. Tossing the skirt across the worktable, she grabbed a small knife and cut into the fabric of one shoulder, ripping off the puffiness and the long sleeves to make it a strapless gown. "Now that'll do."

* * *

**Spying**

Lauren led the three musketeers back to the apartment where she had last seen the Cardinal's spy. She stopped them just around the corner and pointed out the lit windows. "It looks like he's still there." The girl's escorts launched into a string of commentary on Mazarin, most of it details intended to convince the spy that she was on his side. Lauren absorbed as much as she could while in the back of her mind wondering how she missed the fact that the Cardinal was so evil—_I always remembered Mazzie as sort of relatively nice guy_. She then fleetingly recalled that the musketeers would be disbanded soon and gave a mental sigh. _History is written by the victors._

Siroc finished the musketeers' last minute advice with a promise. "We will hang back to give you time to get to him, and then we'll come in closer for the confession and arrest. You have to be quick." He eyed the girl's composed face one last time before giving her one last chance to back out. "Are you sure about this?"

Lauren gave him a small smile as she tightened the large brown cloak around her bare, indecently exposed shoulders. "See you on the other side," she told them, with a last lingering glance to each before she turned. The girl refused to allow any sign of hesitation or fear to change their minds and strode purposely forward to her date with destiny.

* * *

The spy leaned back on the settee in his apartment, his feet propped up on the low table in front of him; to keep his hands occupied, he sharpened a dagger lazily. After a long day of musketeer duties, he had shed his grey and blue for a loose black shirt over dark breeches. Now he had to plan his next move—Mazarin was getting impatient. He glanced up sharply as the door silently swung inward and his manservant entered with a shallow bow of deference. "There's a woman at the door, sir," he said in a low voice.

"Just give her coin and send her away," he replied irritably. "I've no time for mindless interruptions tonight."

"She says the cardinal sends her." The servant met his master's eyes with a meaningful look.

The spy's interest was piqued. Was she a messenger? The cardinal always sent uniformed guardsmen with orders. She must be a gift. A cold smile pulled at the corner of his lips as he returned with, "Well, show her in, man, and quickly." The man in black stood with the dagger and stone, storing them in the velvet lined bottom of a set of drawers behind the couch where he had been lounging. He turned eagerly to await his guest

* * *

Lauren entered the room nervously, brushing past the manservant who held the door open. _Things like this only happen in bad movies or bad novels._ When she caught sight of the cold man waiting for her, she anxiously thought, _What am I doing here? This was a big mistake!_ But the servant closed the doors behind her, and she had nowhere to escape.

"I know you," the man said harshly, his expression going from one of eager anticipation to that of deadly disappointment.

"We work for the same side," the girl spit out quickly, sounding shaky. She was frozen to the floor in front of the door.

He had not moved, but became still more intimidating. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Lauren took a quiet deep breath. _For my friends. For Gil._ "Oh, come on now! The Cardinal has had me playing those four troublesome musketeers from the start! And you almost blew my cover with that silly duel," she said flirtatiously, advancing on him far more bravely than she felt.

The spy's face darkened further. "That foolish boy—"

"Was my cover," she told him, letting the cloak drop to reveal her bare shoulders.

The Cardinal's man recognized this gesture as a ploy and responded in kind. "You seemed rather attached to him. I saw Duval dragging you out of his room just this afternoon—or was that just deep cover?"

She made herself smirk, getting into character. "I admit that getting caught and kicked out wasn't part of the plan, but it serves its purposes." She turned slightly to show the bare back under the laces—she had convinced Jacqueline to forget the corset and tie the dress on with nothing underneath, mostly so the girl would still be able to breathe. It was enough to distract the spy for a moment as she paused in her advance to look about the room casually. "But now that my course has been run, I can help you complete yours."

The spy crossed the now short distance between them and reached out to brush her upper arm with his fingers. "And how could you help me?" he asked in a low voice, looming over her.

Lauren swallowed hard but kept her words airy as she looked up hoping that her eyes did not betray her fear. "Mazarin doesn't tell me other spies plans just like he didn't tell you mine, but I know you have targets and I can help you get to them—they trust me and even try to protect me." She let an ironic grin cross her features as she said the last. "Just tell me what you need."

"I need…" he whispered, bringing his lips to her ear. The spy made a line of rough kisses down her neck quickly while his hand expertly went to the knotted laces.

Lauren, expecting something like this, pushed him away hard and tried to act like a streetwise tough instead of the scared girl that she was. "I'm not here for that. I'm here to help you bring down the musketeers."

The man jerked forward to backhand the girl across her face. Lauren had taken hits before, stray fists in fights with her younger brother and falls from Bud, but never a full blow from a strongly built man. She reeled backwards, landing on a side table which tipped under her weight and sent the girl and assorted objects sprawling across the floor.

"Rest assured that this will help bring down the musketeers," he said as he half-dragged the girl to the sofa. "In fact, it will make killing that slave Siroc all the more pleasurable.'

_Siroc?_ was the last dazed thought before Lauren let out her first scream.

* * *

The three waiting musketeers slowly moved closer to the building, taking care to remain hidden so as to not blow Lauren's cover before it was time. Siroc surveyed the dimly lit windows with more anxiety than he had ever felt before a mission. This time it was not just his life in danger. His gaze, however, jumped to the closed door when piercing screams erupted from the other side. The soldiers moved into action.

D'Artagnan wasted no time in kicking down the first door, his rapier point going immediately to the stunned servant's throat as the others filed in behind him. Jacqueline went to inner door and, hearing the noise from within, threw it open without hesitation. She only had eyes for the spy and rushed forward to attack. The man was quicker, leaping over the back of the sofa and pulling the dagger drawer open. The female musketeer was forced to dive for cover as three knives were instantly imbedded in the cushions of the unlucky chair.

Siroc spared a glance to the floor in front of the couch where Lauren lay still before he charged the man himself. The spy pulled a rapier from somewhere, and a frantic duel began. D'Artagnan finally entered the main chamber after dealing with the manservant, heading for the duel too, but a hand on his arm restrained him. "It's his fight," Jacqueline told him, pulling herself up again. "Get her out of here." The legend's son did not argue this time, kneeling to pick Lauren up and carry her to safety.


	14. Goodbye and Falling

**Goodbye**

Lauren awoke with a start. She found herself tucked into a bed surrounded by stone walls with no windows, an inner room of the garrison lit by candles. _I'll never get used to all this sleeping and waking up in different places…_ She winced when she considered the possible connotations of that thought. A small snore alerted her to the presence of another person in the room. Glancing sideways, she found Gil asleep in a chair dressed in a rumpled musketeer uniform. Lauren leaned up on her elbow and brushed his knee with her fingertips. "What are you doing there? It's late; you should be asleep in your own bed," the girl told him quietly.

Gil's eyes fluttered open, and his expression went from confusion to delight. "It's afternoon, Lauren. You've been out all day. When you fainted, we put you to bed and we've been taking turns watching to see if you wake."

"I didn't 'faint,'" she mumbled in a weak protest, grimly remembering the night before. A hand to her face confirmed that the spy's hit had bruised her cheek. She met Gil's eyes briefly and saw them flick downwards and then away. Puzzled, the girl looked down and realized that she still wore the strapless gown with her scandalously naked shoulders exposed to the world. On another occasion, she might have shared in the musketeer's embarrassment, but by now she had ceased to care what this time thought of her. Lauren collected herself for a moment—_So this is it._ She turned to the still half-asleep boy and told him, "I have to go, Gil."

"Go where?" he asked, his gaze snapping back up to meet hers.

Another sigh escaped her lips. "Back to my own time." Lauren looked at the ceiling, anticipating his reaction.

The boy got distressed on her. "No, you don't have to go anywhere—stay here. This is your real world, your time, where you belong!" he cried earnestly.

"You believe me? About the different times?" she asked quickly, watching his face again.

Gil grabbed her hand and squeezed it gently. "I always knew there was something different about you, ever since I saw you rummaging through the kitchen cupboards in your breeches—if you say it's true, then I believe you."

Withdrawing her hand slowly, the girl changed the subject. "I see you're back in the musketeers."

Gil cleared his throat and leaned back; he had been sitting at the edge of his seat from the excitement. "Uncle Martin sent for me as soon as the others brought you and the dead spy back. Jacques told him that you risked your life to get me my position back, and he granted it in honor of your bravery."

"Oh, so he's dead," Lauren said bluntly. She did not have to specify who. The thought of the slimy spy made her blood boil—she wished she could have punished him by her own hand.

Gil did not seem to notice her darkened expression as he continued. "I heard that Jacques got the first hit, but Siroc finished him off."

That brought a memory to the forefront of her mind. She seized his hand frantically, sitting straight up. "Gil! You have to do something for me: tell Siroc that the spy wanted him and said something about him being a slave."

"You can tell him yourself," he said quietly with an intent stare.

The girl sighed and fell backwards on the hard mattress, her hands going to rub her temples, a strange headache coming on. "No, Gil. I am going home. I left everything right in this world. I'm done."

"Lauren…" the musketeer began, but she shot him a look that pleaded for him to stop arguing. Gil changed his mind and said, "I understand." With a look of remorse on his face, he kissed her hand, laying it reverently back at her side, and Lauren closed her eyes again, a small smile on her lips.

The boy looked down at her for a moment. He leaned forward once again and placed a gentle kiss on her lips, whispering against them "I love you." But she was already gone.

* * *

Lauren woke up again, this time back in her hospital bed. She looked sideways to see the one other person there, a girl slightly younger than Lauren who was sitting on a rolling chair watching a rerun of _Friends_ on the room's television. "Hey!" came the friendly voice of her cousin Ellie when she looked over her shoulder at the newly awoken girl.

"Hello," Lauren croaked out of her dry throat. The first thing she noticed was that her lower lip was numb and, when she reached up to touch it, very swollen. "What happened?" she slurred.

Ellie rolled a few feet closer to hand her a glass of water from the bedside table as she answered, "You fell off Bud about…" She checked her watch. "Oh, about six hours ago."

Lauren sputtered, the water escaping from her fat lip to drip down her blood and dirt smeared shirt. "Only six hours?" she asked incredulously. _All of that dream happened in six hours?_

"Yes," her cousin replied, watching the television once more and not seeing the girl's reaction. "You have a lovely, purple bruised shoulder, eleven stitches on the inside of your lip, and you probably won't want to look at your face in a mirror anytime soon… and a concussion, too. You'll be okay though."

Lauren set the glass on the table and laid her head back on the pillow, trying to absorb all the information. _So everything in France really was a dream… But of course it was—you knew that_, she mentally chided herself. She rubbed her forehead with a hand and immediately brought it before her eyes. There it was—a red, raised scar across her palm.

The girl smiled and relaxed. _I am _not_ crazy. I really did fall into France._

* * *

**Falling**

_One year later… _

Lauren traced the scar on her hand, a thin line drawn across her palm. Ellie had told her that it happened in the ambulance on the way to the hospital—some strange, random accident with some sharp tool, but Lauren could not believe that, not after what she had seen.

After her six hour adventure, she graduated from high school and moved on. Now she was at Furman University, not Georgetown. At last minute she sent in an application because the campus was beautiful, full of gardens and fountains that reminded her of Versailles—and brought back the memory of one special night…

She strolled across the quad, on her way to a French history class with her paper on the musketeers tucked neatly in her copy of Alexandre Dumas' _Twenty Years After_; no matter how many times she read it, she still felt that Gil was somewhere in there, hidden amongst the pages of other people's deeds. Lost in thought, she failed to notice the crack in the sidewalk, catching her toe in it and falling forward to her hands and knees. Lauren cursed softly under her breath in French learned form the garrison men and scrambled to collect her papers before the autumn wind stole them.

She was too late for one—it soared on the breeze, taking a perch in a willow tree. With a deep sigh, she secured the other papers and set her backpack on them at the base of the tree for good measure. She swung up on the lowest limb without hesitation and made her way up the branches to retrieve the elusive sheet. Stretching her arm as far as she could, Lauren managed to grasp it in her fingers and began to pull back for her descent when her foot slipped and she fell. Expecting to break a bone by landing on hard concrete, the girl was surprised when her fall was broken by something a little softer.

"Oouf!" it exhaled loudly, and Lauren realized she had landed on a fellow student, apparently male.

She rolled off of him immediately, blushing furiously and trying to apologize and explain, "Oh my God, I'm so sorry! I slipped trying to get…" But she trailed off as her eyes met familiar looking green ones.

"No worries," he grinned. "If I had known that women fell from the sky here, I would have come a lot sooner." Lauren just sat and stared. The guy cleared throat nervously. "Ready to get up? You aren't hurt are you?"

His voice breaking the trance, she looked away. "No, I think you sufficiently broke my fall…" The girl smiled back as they helped each other up. "Are you a freshman?" she asked.

"No, junior transfer student. The Dean's my uncle so I got in easily." He winked, and Lauren's breath caught in her throat.

"Your name?" her voice wavered with hope.

"William Chantal, but my friends call me Gill because I swim as much as a fish does. I'm here on a swimming scholarship. You?"

"Lauren Cantre. I'm here to study French and history."

They stood, watching each other like old friends meeting again after a long time apart. He started, "How rude of me—would you like to get some coffee or something?"

Lauren looked back oddly and replied, "I'm not much for coffee but I'd enjoy some hot chocolate." Grinning, he offered her his arm with a wink and she took it, following Gill wherever he would take her, across the campus quad or across ages.


End file.
